


I Don't Need Your Love (I Just Need You Now)

by theinvisibledisaster



Series: It Comes and Goes in Waves [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (well as smutty as I get anyway), Abusive Relationship, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Attempted Sexual Assault, Bellamy being protective, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Memori, Modern AU, Multi, Nothing graphic i swear, Panic Attacks, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Soft Bellamy, Touch-Starved, all the brotps, but if something like that might trigger you please don't put yourself in that situation, controlling relationship, minor Linctavia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-05-28 03:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 119,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15039347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinvisibledisaster/pseuds/theinvisibledisaster
Summary: “What was the worst part?” Raven asked.“Probably when he shoved me against a wall and stuck his tongue down my throat,” Clarke admitted, sipping her hot chocolate, which she quickly realised was spiked with rum. God, her friends were perfect.Octavia and Raven both gasped, but it was Bellamy’s reaction that she found the most interesting. He didn’t say anything, didn’t look up from his book, or even alter his expression, but his hand balled into a fist on the arm of his chair.OR: The AU where Clarke and Bellamy hate each other until Bellamy realises she's being mistreated, and does his best to protect her.Winner of Best Modern WIP in the 2018 Bellarke Fanwork Awards (Thank you so much)!!!





	1. Bad PR

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from a Dean Lewis song, which pretty well sums up this fic, and if you haven't listened to Dean Lewis yet (his song Waves is pretty popular, so you've probably heard it) you should go and listen to all of his music because it's GREAT.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke is a lawyer looking to make partner, and her love-life has suddenly become a point of contention. So her mother makes a deal with the Wallaces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I was gonna hold off on posting this for a few days, because I'm not halfway through writing it yet, and I usually don't start posting things until I'm at least halfway through, but 509 has ripped my soul from my body (in the best and worst possible way), so I have thrown myself back into this story with gusto and will hopefully finish it sooner than I was originally going to. 
> 
> So you get the first chapter today instead of next week! Yay! (or No! depending on whether or not you like stories like this)

Clarke was tired.

The exhaustion was rolling off her in waves, and she was almost certain that if someone walked by her office, they would be able to see it, like stink-lines on a cartoon skunk. She had been working on this case for weeks, and it never got any easier. Not to mention her lack of sleep due to a hiccup in another case the night before, and her seven other files stacked up to the side, waiting for her to devote her attention to them too. She had never needed a lot of sleep, so for a moment she couldn't work out why she was so worn out. Eventually, her brain caught up, and she realised the tiredness was due to the fact that she hadn't eaten since the day before, more than a desire to actually rest. 

It was just as that idea crossed her mind that her salvation came gliding up to the office, paper bags in hand, swinging her hips suggestively even as she glared at a paralegal walking by who dared to eye her up.

"You coming, Griffin?" Octavia's head poked around the glass door, flashing her teeth in a wide smile. 

Clarke stood up from her desk, checking the time, "Late lunch, or early dinner?"

Octavia shrugged, blushing a little, "Lincoln stopped by and I got a little sidetracked, but he's at work now, so we still have half an hour to devour lunch together before your next meeting."

Clarke rolled her eyes good-naturedly and snatched the bag of fries Octavia was waving in her face out of the air, tipping some of them straight into her mouth as they walked, sighing happily as the salty, starchy, delicious food reached her stomach. She caught the odd glance being sent her way, "O, come on, I'm starving, don't judge me!"

"We haven't even reached the elevator yet!" Octavia grumbled, but there was a smile in her voice and a teasing elbow made its way to Clarke's ribs, "What are you going to do for the rest of the half hour? Because I'm not sitting there while you watch me eat, that's weird." 

She was about to respond, but her phone started buzzing aggressively in her back pocket, and Clarke had to quickly swallow the mouthful of fries she'd been inhaling before picking it up, "Hello? Yes ma'am. No, of course. Yes."

She hung up and sighed, her steps faltering and a wistful look on her face as she surveyed the corridor.

"Well, we made it to the front half of the floor, that's better than yesterday," Octavia said, "C'mon, we'll finish eating in your office."

"No, O, you should go outside and finish your lunch, don't worry about it."

They had both already started moving back the way they came, ready for the long afternoon ahead of them. 

"Absolutely not, if you're left alone to work on this case, you'll forget to eat. I know you, Clarke." Octavia's tone sounded scolding, and Clarke wondered where she'd learned it from - probably Bellamy. She'd seem him mothering her, barely refraining from tutting when she did something he didn't like. It would be funny, if he wasn't such a dick about it.

Clarke had been friends with Octavia for six months, and in that six months, she’d managed to ingratiate herself with her whole group of friends, something that she’d never done before. She’d been a studious child, in a rich household, and growing up her only real friend had been Wells Jaha, who was long gone. 

She had gone away to law school, where she had been something of a loner, so it had surprised her when she moved back to Polis with no-one and nothing and ended up with a small family of people that she really got along with. All because Octavia offered to help her find a cab one night after a particularly harrowing case, and they'd ended up drinking together until the early hours of the morning, exchanging stories and complaining about their jobs. The next day, she'd started asking her about her food preferences, and then brought up burgers. A day after that, it had been stir-fry, and then it became a daily routine: they ate lunch together, on the roof, or in Clarke's office, taking turns buying the food and picking out new things. At the end of the week, Octavia had invited her out to her favourite club, where she had met her boyfriend, and offered to introduce her to everyone. So Clarke agreed, and she found herself ingratiated into the tight-knit band of delinquents. A group of friends she loved with every fibre of her being.

And Bellamy. 

She didn’t hate Bellamy, at least not anymore, but she would still pick anyone else in the room over him, no matter what. 

She’d met him last of Octavia’s friends, because he was working all the time and he could never manage to get a night off when they all went out. It was two months after Clarke had met everyone else, and they instantly hated each other, which made the tensions between the Blake siblings a little high, not that they weren’t already. 

Octavia had actually thanked her in the car on the way back to Clarke’s apartment, “You have no idea how nice it is for him to be mad about someone else.”

“But he still argued with you?”

“Yeah, but for the first time in months, it wasn’t about Lincoln. So thank you.”

Clarke had laughed. She understood why Bellamy didn’t like Lincoln: he was a few years older than Octavia and his job as a bouncer wasn’t exactly a career. But he made Octavia happy, he was good to her, and Clarke decided that was the only thing that mattered. In fact, she and Lincoln had gotten even closer after Bellamy took such a disliking to her, bonding over their mutual adversary. 

Bellamy wasn’t a bad person, not really. He had worked himself to the bone to provide for Octavia after their mother died, dropping out of college to keep them afloat. Clarke knew that, and yet she couldn’t stop herself from butting heads with him at every turn. 

Just as Bellamy knew that Clarke wasn’t necessarily the entitled rich girl he made her out to be. He was aware of her father’s death, even mentioned it once, in passing, but he just couldn’t seem to resist winding her up. 

The first night they met, he called her Princess and she called him an ass. 

“The start of a beautiful friendship,” Raven had joked, which made both of them roll their eyes and scoff.

* * *

* * *

Four months after their first ill-fated meeting, Clarke and Bellamy still weren’t any closer, and she was perfectly content with that. Octavia was her friend, not Bellamy. 

That night, she was going out clubbing with them all, and unfortunately that included him, but she wasn’t going to let it bother her. Monty and Jasper would be there, and they were always the life of the party – not to mention Raven.

She met the three of them in the line outside Octavia’s favourite club, _The Dead Zone_ , and it was clear almost immediately that Monty and Jasper were already baked.

“Clarkey, my fave!” Jasper cried out, pulling her into a bear hug. She laughed and reciprocated it, while Monty looked slightly put out beside them. Jasper spun on his heel and hugged his best friend, “Monty! My fave!”

“He’s very high,” Raven pointed out, as if it needed to be said. 

“I can see that,” Clarke smiled, amused, “I wish I was.”

“I can help with that,” Monty said, but she waved him off. 

“My job does drug tests,” she explained, for probably the hundredth time, and her friends pouted. 

“And what job is that Princess? Standing there looking pretty requires drug tests, does it?” A familiar voice said from behind her. 

She turned to face him, rolling her eyes, “Yes Bellamy, performance enhancing drugs are all the rage in the job of being rich and entitled. You’ve done this enough now that I can finish your spiteful comments for you, so why do you bother? Nice of you to admit I’m pretty though.”

She flashed him a sarcastic grin and he returned it, unfazed, “I’ve never said you weren’t pretty, Princess. The only reason I haven’t made a move is that I hate you so much. If I didn’t know what you were like in person, I probably would have hit on you the first night we met.”

“Aw poor Bellamy, Clarke being unwilling to put up with your bullshit must be such a boner killer,” Raven nudged him and he chuckled lightly. 

“I’m sure I could get over it,” Bellamy said, eyes surveying Clarke hungrily. She was wearing a tight blue dress, and her cleavage was on full display, and he took it all in before his eyes met hers again, “I’m always here if you need some hate sex, Princess.”

Octavia and Lincoln approached from behind and caught his last comment and Octavia stomped on his foot while making overly loud vomiting noises. 

“That’s disgusting, Big Brother,” she grumbled, “And also Clarke is _way_ too good for you, so don’t even try it.”

“Clarke thinks she’s too good for everyone,” he snapped back.

“No, just you,” Clarke winked and took Raven’s hand, following her into The Dead Zone.

* * *

* * *

Octavia and Lincoln were leaning up against the bar, fully immersed in conversation, gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes. Raven was being hit on by two guys at once, and Monty was working up the courage to go and dance with the cute blonde by the speaker, while Jasper yelled encouragement in his ear. 

Bellamy had been basically swarmed with women once they entered the club, and he’d left with two of them after barely an hour, which made Octavia roll her eyes and Raven nod at him in approval. Clarke had shaken her head in disbelief, but she wasn’t really surprised, at least not anymore. Bellamy frequently came out with them and he constantly left early with a woman or two on his arm. 

Clarke was four shots down, and the room was spinning a little. Although that might’ve had something to do with the gorgeous woman dancing with her.

Lexa was beautiful, and fierce, and all hands, which Clarke was really enjoying. So when she leaned in close and started whispering filthy things in her ear, Clarke couldn’t drag her out of the club fast enough.

They barely made it into the cab before they were all over each other, lips and teeth and tongues. The cabbie cleared his throat and gained their attention long enough to ask for an address, and then they were back to grinding on each other, much to his growing embarrassment.

* * *

* * *

The next morning, Lexa made breakfast, and Clarke kissed her goodbye, promising to call her and actually meaning it. She was cool – they had a lot in common, and the sex was amazing. 

Unfortunately, she had to meet her mother for lunch, so she ducked home quickly to shower and find an appropriate change of clothes. 

Her mother was a senator, and a good one, if there was such a thing. It also made her a cold, distant woman, which Clarke wouldn’t mind so much if Abby didn’t insist on meeting for lunch every Saturday, to carry on the illusion that they were a normal family. 

Clarke had hated those lunches since her father died, but she kept going, if only to honour his memory. 

When she arrived, Abby was sitting in her usual seat, at her usual table, and Clarke had on enough make-up that her hangover wasn’t obvious. There was a mimosa in front of Abby and a coffee where Clarke was supposed to sit. There were also no menus in sight, which meant her mother had ordered for her. 

“Did you have fun last night?” Her mother asked, clearly not interested.

“Yeah,” Clarke replied passively. It was easier to just answer in short statements, not give her mother anything to work with. 

“With Octavia?”

“And Raven and Monty and Jasper,” she said.

“Bellamy?” Abby asked, her tone hesitant. 

“Yeah, but we’re not friends, so I’m not counting him,” Clarke stated bluntly. 

“He’s a _mechanic_ , Clarke,” Abby said disapprovingly, and Clarke bristled.

“As is Raven. So?”

“So you’re a lawyer, and a senator’s daughter, don’t you think the company you keep should be more…”

“Stuffy, rich…? Boring?!” Clarke asked, faking a eureka moment. 

Abby frowned, “Respectable.”

And then Clarke sighed, because for the first time, she was about to stick up for Bellamy Blake, “Mom, don’t start. Putting aside that I’m not even friends with Bellamy, I’m friends with his sister, the fact that he’s a mechanic is irrelevant. He’s a… urgh… I guess he’s a decent human being, as are most people who live on that side of town, just as there are people who live uptown who are thoroughly awful.”

“From a PR standpoint,” Abby sighed, waiting as the waitress put their usual order on the table. She only started again once she walked away, “From a PR standpoint, Clarke, the daughter of a senator should not be seen downtown in seedy clubs with mechanics and secretaries.”

“Octavia is a secretary at the _law firm I work at_.” Clarke poked her eggs with a knife.

“That doesn’t change where she lives.” Abby said sternly and Clarke threw down her fork, suddenly decidedly unhungry. 

“No, I guess not,” she said bitterly. 

“The Wallaces dropped by last night,” Abby said, conversationally, “Cage was disappointed you weren’t there.”

Clarke tried to cover the irritated expression on her face with a hand on her forehead, “I’m sure I’ll see him soon. You have a charity dinner coming up next Friday which I’m sure we’ll both be attending.”

“Yes. You’re to attend with him,” Abby ordered.

Clarke choked on her coffee, “You… what?”

“I’d like you to date Mr Wallace,” as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“You’d like me to?” Clarke clarified, knowing full well that it wasn’t a question, it was a command. 

“Yes, at least for a month or two, just to boost your image,” Abby sipped her mimosa, “You were seen leaving the club with a girl last night.”

Clarke made a fist under the table, “So?”

“So lawyers looking to make partner at the most elite law firm in the country don’t look good leaving downtown clubs with strange women.”

“I… because she’s a woman?”

“Partially,” Abby admitted, “I personally have no problem with it, but you must know that 90 percent of the people you’re trying to impress are of an older generation with a slightly skewed mind-set about that sort of thing. If you ever want to make partner, you need to be seen with a man of similar social and political standing to you.”

“You mean straight, white and rich?” Clarke scowled.

Her mother looked almost apologetic, “I never liked it when I was your age either, but that was how I met your father – at a charity event for our two law firms.”

“The Wallaces aren’t lawyers, Mom, they’re senators, and corrupt ones.” It was an open secret in Polis that Dante Wallace had bribed, stolen and murdered his way to the top. In fact, Clarke had a particular reason to hate Dante Wallace – he was the reason her best friend was lying in Mount Weather Cemetery, and not sitting at lunch with her now.

“Clarke–” Abby warned. 

“So this is more about your image than mine, isn’t it?” She questioned, downing the last of her coffee.

Abby regarded her carefully, “Yes. The Wallaces are a powerful family, and they can make or break my career. If you say no to this, they could… make my life difficult.”

“You mean like how they occasionally have people murdered?” She asked casually, watching her mother’s reaction. She looked almost… afraid. Clarke sat up a little straighter, “Mom? Did they threaten you?”

“Of course not.”

_“Mom?”_

Abby relented, “Dante merely made it clear to me that the man who shot Jake ended up dead himself, and that his murderer was never found. He also implied, rather heavily, that it would be easy to pin it on _me_.”

“So he threatened you?” 

“Clarke, please, just…” Abby took a deep breath, “Just do me this favour, publicly date Mr Wallace for a few months. His own PR needs a bit of work, so Dante and I agreed that it could be a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“Okay,” Clarke said. 

Her mother looked up sharply, “Really? No complaining, no seething, no slamming doors in my face?”

“I’m an adult. I’ll just do what normal adults do and whine about you behind your back,” Clarke said lightly, and for the first time in a while, Abby’s smile was genuine. 

“Thank you. And between you and me, I think that girl you went home with was very pretty,” she said, “Maybe you could still see her occasionally, as long as you’re not somewhere too public.”

Clarke sighed, “No, mom, I think dating someone else, no matter how superficially, is probably going to put an end to any relationship for a while.”

She didn’t delete Lexa’s contact from her phone though.

* * *

* * *

She threw Octavia’s door open loudly, “If you’re having sex in here, stop, because I need to complain about shit!”

“Please don’t talk about my sister having sex,” Bellamy’s voice said from the living room. Great, just what she needed, someone to sneer at her problems. 

Octavia poked her head around the wall, “Lincoln’s hanging out with Nyko, what’s up?”

Clarke groaned and followed her around the corner, flopping face down on the couch. Octavia sat down next to her, shoving her legs on the floor so she could fit. 

“My mother.” She grumbled into the pillow. 

“Oh,” Octavia said understandingly and patted her backside, “How bad is it? ‘Have to go to a swanky dinner with people you hate’ bad or ‘have to go away with her and people you hate for a weekend’ bad?”

Clarke sat up and looked glumly over at her, “ _I’m not allowed to be bisexual_ bad.”

Octavia’s eyes widened, “She did not?!”

“She did. Apparently there were photos of me and that girl Lexa from last night, and it’s _bad PR_.” She said the phrase like it tasted bad in her mouth.

Bellamy was in the armchair, looking unimpressed, “That’s ridiculous.”

“Welcome to my life,” Clarke pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“So just don’t get caught next time,” Octavia said practically. 

“It gets worse.”

“How much worse?!”

“She wants me to date Cage Wallace,” Clarke muttered, and Octavia’s eyes nearly fell out of her head. Even Bellamy looked shocked. 

Octavia picked her jaw up off the floor, “Cage, son of renowned Godfather-like senator, Dante Wallace?” 

“The very same.”

“Do you have to?”

“He… I… Yes.” Unfortunately, despite trying to come up with an alternative on the drive over, she was now resigned to her fate, at least for the next few months.

“Fuck,” her friend said, gripping her shoulder, “Are you okay?”

“Aside from having no idea how to pretend to be attracted to someone that I find repulsive for the next few months, yeah, I’m grand.”

“We need alcohol,” Octavia said, walking into the kitchen to find some. 

Bellamy was watching Clarke carefully. 

“What, Blake? You clearly have something to say,” she snapped. 

“Why did you agree to it, if you hate him so much?” 

“Because my mother…” she was about to tell the truth, and thought better of it, “Because she asked, and she’s right. If I ever want to make partner, I need to at least look like a member of the upper echelon, no matter how much I hate it.”

“That’s disgusting,” he grimaced. 

She crossed her arms, more than a little offended, “And to think, I defended you to my mother.”

He blinked. 

“No, I don’t mean _you_! I mean, the whole situation. You shouldn’t have to pretend to be someone you’re not just to get somewhere in life,” he said, that same frown still perched between his eyes. 

“Oh. Well, thanks,” Clarke said, taken aback. This was the first conversation she’d ever had with him where they were remotely on the same page. 

It was a nice moment.

It didn’t last long, “What do you mean you defended me to your mother?”

She cleared her throat a little, embarrassed, “My mom is…”

“A raging bitch,” Octavia finished for her, handing her a beer. 

“She’s a good person at heart, I think,” Clarke said, “But I’m pretty sure she removed her heart when my dad died and put it in a box in the basement where no-one can ever get to it.”

“She doesn’t like that Clarke is friends with us _lowly folk_ ,” Octavia said bluntly. 

Clarke sunk further into the corner of the couch, swigging her drink, “I’m pretty sure her exact words were, _‘from a PR standpoint, the daughter of a senator should not be downtown in seedy clubs with mechanics and secretaries’_. It doesn’t matter to her that you work at the same law firm I do, O, she still sees you more for the place you’re from than the person you are.”

Bellamy’s slight frown became a scowl to rival Clarke’s own. 

“Why didn’t you just nod along, like you usually do?” Octavia asked, a note of bitterness in her voice. Clarke couldn’t blame her. She had been in enough rooms with Clarke to see her interacting with the top brass at the law firm, to see her keep her mouth shut even when things she disagreed with were said. 

“I was going to, but Mom really went in on Bellamy,” she glanced at him, “Sorry.”

He shook his head, “You needn’t have bothered defending me. I’m not trying to impress anyone, especially not anyone like you. You don’t even like me.”

“That’s _irrelevant_ ,” Clarke said loudly and he crossed his arms, almost instinctively, ready to argue with her. But she wasn’t having it, “It doesn’t matter whether I like you or not, my mother doesn’t know you, she’s never even met you, and she’s making assumptions based on where you live. It’s not fair.”

He looked surprised, “That’s very… open-minded of you.”

Octavia threw the lid of her beer bottle at him, “I’ve been telling you for six months, Clarke isn’t like everyone else at that place – why do you think we’re friends? I don’t like _anyone else_ I work with.”

“You also tell me that Britney Spears is the height of musical talent, so forgive me if I tune out your words of wisdom every now and then,” he pointed out, and Clarke actually laughed. 

“Does this mean you won’t be hanging out with us as much?” Octavia asked her.

“I’m not sure. Maybe. It’s just for a few months, until my being into women is forgotten,” she sighed. 

_“This is bullshit,”_ her friend said, and Clarke wholeheartedly agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated. 
> 
> I mean, I'm gonna need some positive reinforcement after that episode, so please feel free to pile it on, and maybe suffocate me to death with it, thanks. <3


	2. Rough Night, Griffin?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dating Cage Wallace isn't what she expected, and she can't decide how to feel about it.

It had been two weeks since Clarke had been out with her friends, and a week since she’d started dating Cage Wallace. 

So far, they’d barely been in the same room, except for publicity. The charity dinner she attended with him was so crowded that she spent most of the event blissfully separated from both him and her mother, discussing donations with a governor from Tondisi. She had hoped that he was as unwilling of a participant in the ruse as she was, but it seemed he was completely serious about dating her. The next day, he’d sent flowers to her office, and the girls at the front desk had made a huge deal out of it, proclaiming how romantic it was while Octavia pretended to shoot herself in the head behind them.

She still saw Octavia every day, and made a point of having lunch with her as often as possible, filling her in on everything and listening to her rant about her brother, or some other work gossip. But she missed her friends, and she hated Cage Wallace. 

Well no, that wasn’t quite true – Cage himself was actually perfectly charming, if a little sleazy. She didn’t hate Wallace, she hated his father and the circumstances that led to them dating. It was the _situation_ that she hated.

She had hated every excruciating second, and their first romantic dinner at one of the most expensive restaurants in town was no exception. She was a ball of nerves, teetering on a knife edge of anxiety and self-loathing. For most of the meal, Cage was polite and honest, and all easy-going charm. It threw her off a little – in every other interaction they’d had, she had never really liked him, but she supposed at a romantic dinner he was inclined to be more relaxed than at charity events.

“So how long have you been a lesbian?” Cage asked her quietly, something unreadable in his expression. 

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep her expression neutral, “Bisexual.”

“Right, how long have you been into girls?” He didn’t seem to be judging, which was nice, but she wasn’t sure where this line of questioning was heading, and she didn’t like it. 

“I don’t know, I worked it out a long time ago,” she said. 

“That girl Lexa in those photos, she your girlfriend?”

“No.”

“You dating anyone else?”

“Not really,” Clarke really didn’t know what was going on. The questions were baffling, rapid fire and spoken in a pleasant monotone. 

“So if our parents hadn’t forced us to go on this date, do you think you ever would have come out with me?” He sipped his wine, appraising her over it.

“I don’t know,” she said, honestly, and there was a twinkle in his eye when he nodded. 

“Fair enough. Just so you know, I don’t expect this to be exclusive,” he said, very straightforward, but Clarke had a feeling that something else was coming, and she was right, “at least at first. If I decide at some point that we are becoming more serious, it would be prudent for you to stop sleeping with other people.”

Clarke shifted in her seat uncomfortably, twirling spaghetti on her fork, “that makes sense, but like I said, I’m not really seeing anyone… Lexa is nice, but I don’t want to drag her into anything she doesn’t want.”

He stared at her for a long moment, cutting his steak, and she watched as it bled out onto the plate, watery red against the stark white, oozing outwards. She tried not to think about the last time she’d seen blood like that. 

He asked her more about her dating life; probing questions about her sexuality that if she’d had more time to prepare for, she could have lied about. Instead, put on the spot, she ended up telling him exactly what he wanted to know, internally cursing herself for not putting her foot down. 

“So you’d be open to a threesome?” He asked, and she struggled not to throw her drink in his face. Anytime anyone ever heard she was bisexual, that was always the first question. She was almost surprised he’d made it this far without asking, but that didn’t make her despise the question any less.

_“No.”_

“Really? Too out there for you?” He asked, amused at her apparent conservative view of sex. She didn’t mention that she’d had her fair share of threesomes in college, nor did she bring up some of the other more ‘out there’ sexual experiences she’d had, out of fear that if she did, he would probe her about them for the rest of the night. 

She simply said, “Something like that.”

Surprisingly, he didn’t press the issue: he changed direction, “You’re criminal law, right? Any interesting cases at work?”

“Uh, yeah actually,” she said, and started telling him about a case involving some bizarre witnesses. He nodded along, seeming genuinely engaged for a while. 

“Do any cases involving my father ever cross your desk?” He asked, chewing his steak. 

Ah. So that was what he wanted to know – that she was in his father’s corner, if they needed her to be, “No, those are higher profile, the partners tend to get those.”

“Right, but if you made partner, which your mother told me you’re aiming to, you would see those cases?”

“I guess so.”

“And if any of those cases looked in any way suspicious?” He stared at her. 

She kept her expression neutral, “Is there any reason they would?”

He grinned, “That’s what I like to hear.”

She lost her appetite. 

He polished off his steak and ordered dessert, offering her one, but she politely declined. The waitress was brazenly flirting with him, and he wasn’t hiding his attraction to her either. Maybe he would take her home, and then Clarke could escape, untouched and unconcerned with the state of this ' relationship' and how real, or not, it was. 

Unfortunately, the bill arrived rather quickly in the hands of a different waitress, and Cage offered to walk her to her car. 

His hand was on the small of her back, a little too far down for comfort, but she just kept her eyes forward, moving towards the familiar silver trunk of her car. 

“I had a nice time,” he said, and she nodded, unable to respond in a way that wouldn’t sound slightly sarcastic. In all honesty, she hadn’t hated it as much as she thought she would, but she still didn’t want to be there in the first place. 

She thought that might be the end of it, but as she reached the edge of the carpark, he pushed her up against a wall and crashed his lips to hers. She could taste his steak, and the $200 scotch he’d been drinking, and she could feel the bricks digging into her back. She tried to relax into it, but she was so uncomfortable. 

He hadn’t asked. 

There had been no warning. 

He just shoved her against a wall. 

When his hands started wandering up her skirt, however, she couldn’t let him continue. 

She pulled away, “I have to go, I’m meeting my friend in ten minutes.”

It wasn’t a lie – she decided right that second that if she didn’t see Octavia or Raven soon, she was going to explode. 

“Pity,” he said, hand caressing her face, “to be continued.”

He released her and she adjusted her dress, yanking it back down. She walked calmly to her car, turned it on, and waved at him as she pulled out onto the road. Once she was out of his field of vision, she let the smile drop off her face and rang her friend. 

“Octavia, are you at home?”

“Yeah, Bellamy and Raven are over too, are you on our side of town?”

“No, but I will be in ten minutes,” Clarke said, leaning harder on the accelerator. 

When she arrived at the apartment, she didn’t knock, she just walked in. The three of them were in the kitchen, the girls sitting on the counter and Bellamy leaning against the fridge, deep in conversation. She must have looked a little worse for wear, because Raven raised an eyebrow in her direction. 

“Rough night, Griffin?”

“You could say that,” she said tiredly, “I had a date with Cage.”

They all winced, and Octavia put on her most sympathetic face, “I’m assuming you came here for alcohol and friendship?”

“Actually, O, I really, _really_ just want a shower,” she felt squirrelly, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on why, “but alcohol and friendship after, yeah?”

“Yeah babe,” she said, waving her hand towards the bathroom, “I think I have a pair of your pyjamas here too, if you’re staying the night.”

“Thanks,” Clarke shuffled out of the kitchen and down the hall. She closed the bathroom door behind her and leaned on it, wincing and jumping forward when her skin cried out. She spun around to look in the mirror and saw scratches on her back, between her shoulder blades, vertical, horizontal, little inflamed cuts, red and raw. It must have happened when Cage kissed her, but she hadn’t noticed, so busy trying to walk the line between an easy kiss and a hint at more to come. She wasn’t really sure what Cage wanted – he talked about not being exclusive, but he was clearly attracted to her – and she found herself confused as to his true intentions, and more than a little sore. 

She groaned; this shower was going to hurt. 

“Clarke, are you alright?” Raven’s voice said, close to the door. 

“Yeah, Ray, I’m fine, it’s just been a long-ass day.”

She heard her move away from the door and sighed, relieved, stepping into the tub apprehensively. She was right about the shower – it burned her back, but at least she felt cleaner afterwards, more like herself. She pulled on her pyjamas and paced back into the open, towel-drying her hair. Her friends were sitting at the kitchen table, hot chocolate at the ready, and Bellamy was leaning back in the armchair that seemed to be reserved for him, reading a battered old paperback of _1984_. 

“So, how’s my favourite prostitute?” Octavia joked, but Clarke didn’t find it as amusing as she wanted to, and Bellamy was downright offended. 

_“O, what the fuck?”_ He growled over his book, and she shrunk into herself, noticing Clarke’s miserable expression switch to surprise directed at her older brother. 

“Sorry, I was just trying to lighten the mood a little,” Octavia winced. 

“It’s fine.” Clarke said, looking at Bellamy when she said it. He sat back in his seat and refocussed his attention on his book, but left the irritated look on his face. 

“How was your, ahem, date?” Raven asked. 

Clarke lowered her voice an octave, imitating him, _“So, how long have you been a lesbian?”_

“He asked you that?”

“Yep, which was surprisingly the highlight of the night.”

“Jesus. What was the worst part?” Raven was making a grossed-out face. 

“Maybe when he implied that I should use my weight at the law firm to help his father in his duplicitous activities,” Clarke sighed, “or maybe when I ended up telling him way too much about myself for a first date because apparently I don’t have a filter when I’m drinking.”

Raven and Octavia shared a knowing look and she glared at them. 

“Well that doesn’t sound too bad; why are you so quiet and fidgety and not-Clarke?” Octavia asked, leaning back in the guise of being casual, “what was so not good about the date that you’re acting weird?”

“Probably when he shoved me against a wall and stuck his tongue down my throat,” Clarke admitted, sipping her hot chocolate, which she quickly realised was spiked with rum. God, her friends were the best.

Octavia and Raven both gaped, but it was Bellamy’s reaction that she found the most interesting. He didn’t say anything, didn’t look up from his book, or even alter his expression, but his hand balled into a fist on the arm of his chair. 

“Did you kick him in the balls?” Octavia asked fiercely, clearly imagining doing it herself.

“Nope, can’t,” Clarke downed half her hot chocolate in one gulp, “his dad is one of the most powerful people in the world. Not only can he make my life miserable, he can ruin my mother’s career. I have to just go along with it.”

“You’re not going to _sleep with him?!”_ Octavia looked horrified, “I was only joking about the prostitute thing!”

“No… I don’t know. He’s not all bad, and I’m not convinced he was trying to be pushy – maybe he just read the moment differently to me and took a chance. He seems to be a player anyway, which I presume is why his father is making him date me, to keep his image up. He probably ended up taking the waitress home, judging by how intensely they were flirting all night. He just took me by surprise. Who knows, maybe I’ll end up actually liking him? But even if I end up hating him, it’s only for a few months," but it sounded like she was trying to justify his actions to herself, more than her friends, and maybe she was.

“Good,” Raven said, curling an arm around her shoulder, “because you deserve so much better. When all this is over, we’ll find you a person worth dating.”

Clarke snorted, “Raven, I’m a 25-year-old lawyer in the best law firm in the country. People in my firm think I only got where I am because of my parents, and people elsewhere find me intimidating or stuck up. I’m not exactly brimming with charisma here. Not to mention, I don’t have any fucking time to date anyone, between work, making appearances for my mother and now, apparently, being a political hooker. I barely have time to see you guys, and you’re my favourite people in the world. One-night stands are well and good, but I’m pretty sure dating is out of the cards for me.”

“What’s with the defeatist attitude, Griffin? You’re smart, you’re a babe, you’re successful, you’re a _babe_ , and you’re interesting, not to mention _a fucking babe_ ,” Raven kissed her cheek.

“Smoking hot, like if I was gay, I’d go there,” Octavia joined in. 

“I mean, I am into girls, but you’re my friend, so we shouldn’t,” Raven teased. She glanced across the table, “Bellamy, tell Clarke how attractive she is.”

He made a face behind his book, “Absolutely not.”

“She had a bad date, c’mon, she needs a confidence boost – just tell her she looks pretty.”

“Considering her date was bad because a guy was all over her, I think I’m going to sit this one out,” Bellamy sighed and put his book down, looking at Clarke, “but you’re a good person, and a good friend to my sister.”

She stared back at him, her mouth slightly open.

“Did you… were you just nice to me?” She asked. 

“Yeah, it’s a one-time thing, don’t get used to it,” he grouched, standing up and moving towards the hallway. 

“Thanks,” she said instinctively, “Where are you going?”

He froze halfway to the door, “Home. Clearly, you’re staying in O’s spare room tonight, so I’m gonna get going.”

“No, don’t let me ruin your night,” Clarke got to her feet, “seriously, I probably need to get back to my place anyway.”

He rolled his eyes, “Your place is the other side of the city, it’s past midnight. I live down the road, it’s five minutes.”

“Bellamy–”

 _“What, Princess?”_ His tone was biting. 

“Forget it,” she snapped back, and he nodded, waving at Octavia and Raven as he stomped out the door. “Wow, for a minute there, I forgot that Bellamy is actually an asshole.”

“Yeah, but at least he’s not a sexist, slimy pig like my old boss, and at least he didn’t misread the situation like Cage,” Raven pointed out, “Plus, when we slept together, he was really sweet.”

Clarke froze with her mug on her lips, “Did I hear that right?”

She looked confused, “What?”

“You and Bellamy slept together?”

She and Octavia shared a look, “Oh yeah, _that._ I forgot, you weren’t here when that happened. That’s so weird, I feel like you’ve been in our lives forever, but it’s barely seven months.”

“How did that happen?” 

“I found out my boyfriend was cheating on me, and I got very drunk one night, and I tried to seduce Bellamy. He refused to do anything, tucked me in his bed and told me he was going to sleep on the couch. The next morning, he made me breakfast and told me that I’d never be okay until I moved on from Finn. So I moved on.”

“With Bellamy?” Clarke still couldn’t wrap her head around it. 

“Yep. I mean, I had to promise him that I was completely sober and in my right mind, and then, yeah, with Bellamy. And then Wick. Then Roma. Then Murphy.”

“MURPHY?!” Clarke gaped, and Octavia sniggered.

“Oh yeah, he and Raven had quite a few sparring matches back in the day, before he met Emori,” Octavia grinned, “they were actual _Friends With Benefits_ , you know, the capital letters kind. Once he met Emori though, that was it for him.”

“Shit. I can’t believe he didn’t tell me about that! You would have thought he would mention it, but no, I have to find out by accident,” Clarke murmured, “I feel like there’s a whole section of our lives that we just completely missed with each other, y’know? You’re right, Ray, it feels like we’ve been friends for years, but it’s not actually that long.”

“Luckily, it’s not going to end any time soon, and then we’ll have loads of memories that our new friends, ten years from now, can be jealous of missing out on,” Raven smirked, punching Clarke in the arm. 

“I like the sound of that,” she grinned, and they all moved into the living room so they could watch a cheesy movie. Octavia and Raven argued between _The Expendables_ and _Mad Max Fury Road_ so Clarke just sidestepped them and put on _The Incredibles_.

“Clarke is in charge of all movie decisions in the apartment from now on,” Raven decreed, biting Octavia’s hand when she reached across for some popcorn. 

“Ow, crazy bitch,” she laughed, “but I agree, Clarke is the executive in charge.”

“Do I get a sign on the door, or a plaque?” Clarke joked. 

“No, but you get the gift of our love and respect,” Raven teased back. 

“Urgh, but I already have that,” Clarke whined, hugging her friends. She was really glad she hadn’t gone home and wallowed in the aftermath of her perplexing evening: this was way better.

* * *

* * *

She went out for her usual Saturday lunch with her mother the next day, grumbling the whole way out of Octavia’s apartment. 

“How was your date with Cage? Are you getting to know him any better?” Abby asked, almost as soon as she sat down. She sipped her mimosa, smiling sweetly.

Clarke bit her retort back, “Yeah, it was fine.”

“I know it’s not ideal, sweetheart, but it’s just for now,” and Abby must have really felt bad, because she never called her sweetheart unless she felt guilty about something.

“I know, Mom,” she replied, desperately searching for another conversation topic, “how’s the office?”

“It’s fine. Marcus Kane is really getting on my nerves, but then I suppose that might have something to do with the fact that I like him,” she said, “and I haven’t dated anyone since your father so I’m really sure how to act around him.”

Clarke smiled, “Just be yourself, Mom. Not Senator Griffin, or Abigail Griffin; distant mother of the year,” she really tried to hold back the sarcasm on that one, but her mother still caught it, “Just be _Abby.”_

“He’s a good person, Clarke. The things I’ve done… I don’t deserve a good person. I barely deserved your father, and I was a much better person back then, likely because of his influence.”

“What a positive message to send your only daughter – settle!” Clarke snorted and Abby couldn’t help but laugh too. 

“You should never settle, Clarke,” she said seriously, “After this whole fiasco with the Wallaces is over, I want you to promise me you won’t settle for anything less than perfect.”

“I’m not sure perfect exists, but I’ll do my best,” Clarke said, clinking her glass against her mother’s. 

“Who knows, maybe you’ll find out you actually like Cage Wallace?” Abby suggested. 

Clarke felt her happiness shrivel a little – she was still glad she hadn’t mentioned Cage’s rather rough indiscretion to her, but she hoped Abby would drop the notion of her marrying into a family like that. Even if she liked Cage, she hated his family, and what his father stood for. She couldn’t stand the idea of spending more than the next two months in their circles; hell, she didn’t want to spend another minute with him if it meant that she was on Dante’s radar. 

But all she said aloud was, “Maybe.”

* * *

* * *

That week was a long one.

She had so much work to do, and she didn’t manage to see the sun once, getting up before it was over the horizon and leaving the office only as the last dregs of murky light were draining from the sky. 

Cage took to visiting her on her lunchbreaks because she was unavailable in the evenings, so now not only were her weekends monopolised by him, but her midday catch-ups with Octavia were being shoved aside as well. She understood why he felt he had to spend time with her, but she wished it didn’t have to cut into time she would rather be spending with her best friend. She had tried to bring it up with him, and he’d been offended, distraught at the idea that she was pushing him out. So of course she’d apologised and promised that she wasn’t, she just didn’t want to neglect her best friend. Cage had shaken his head in that charming way of his and leaned back in the chair usually reserved for Octavia.

“She can see you whenever she wants,” he pointed out, although that wasn’t quite true – Octavia didn’t work for Clarke, and she didn’t work close enough for them to just spend time together, but Cage continued, “and you’re so busy, how can you ever expect us to know if we’re compatible if we never see each other?”

She couldn’t really deny that, even if it made her best friend a little irritated at her. 

In fact, she and Octavia barely saw each other at all, missing each other at every turn; flashes of blonde around corners, the swish of dark hair as the elevator doors closed; it was disconcerting, not spending a little time every day together. It was throwing them both off, Clarke could tell. When they did get a few minutes, on Wednesday, Octavia was distant and just a little standoffish. Clarke understood where she was coming from – it looked like she was abandoning her for her high-flying, rich, powerful boyfriend, but she wasn’t, at least not the in the way Octavia assumed. 

It felt like she was living in some kind of dream state, or a pocket universe – dark and hidden away, separated from her friends by the thin film of daylight and distance. Luckily, her friends didn’t let her feel completely out of the loop.

Jasper kept messaging her telling her how much he missed her, and Raven cheered her up with screenshots of the ridiculous conversations she was having on Tinder, and Murphy even dropped in on Thursday evening. 

“So, this is the Princess’s castle?” He drawled, and her head shot up from the stack of files she’d been perusing. He leaned lazily against the bookshelf on her left, “not as glamourous as I was expecting. It doesn’t even have a window. I thought all lawyers offices were just made of windows?”

“Murphy? What are you doing here?”

“Checking on you,” he said casually, like that was something he did every day. It wasn’t.

“Um… why?” She put her pen down, frowning at him. 

“You’re working yourself to the bone, and your friends are worried about you, because we care,” he said, tapping his foot, and it was then that she realised he was carrying something under his arm. 

“You mean Octavia was worried that I’m not eating enough?” Clarke asked, rolling her eyes. 

_“Obviously,”_ he drew the word out, made it feel like a whole sentence, and she felt a warmth spreading through her bones, like the sun against her skin. She’d missed this – the simple act of seeing someone she loved. She gestured at the chair in front of her and he took it, putting the bag of takeout down on the table between them. It was Thai, all of her favourite dishes, and she felt the warmth growing outwards, making its way to her cheeks, where it caused the corners of her lips to tilt up slightly.

She tore into the green curry, alternating between shoving spoons heaped with food into her mouth and nudging the containers towards him, urging him to dig in too. She picked a whiskey from her cupboard, a gift from a grateful client, and poured them both a glass. 

“So why you?” Clarke’s mouth was full of rice, and if Octavia had been there, she would have been chastised, but this was Murphy, and he only looked back at her with a straight face, eyes sparkling with mirth. She put her hand in front of her mouth so she didn’t lose any of it and mumbled, “not that I’m not excited to see you, just surprised.”

“Well, she and Lincoln were having a romantic night and Reyes had a date, so she told Bellamy to do it. He actually considered it too, but he’s doing some overworking of his own, so I offered. He’s probably still in the garage, forgetting to eat and focussing really hard, like someone else I know.” The smile finally made its way from Murphy’s eyes to his mouth, and it Clarke automatically matched it with one of her own. He always managed to improve her mood, no matter what was going on, and she hoped he knew it. 

“How’s Emori?”

His features softened slightly and he rubbed the back of his head with his hand, “she’s… good, we’re good, everything’s…”

“Good?” Clarke guessed, and he threw a half-eaten curry puff at her. 

He was blushing now, “I… I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

Clarke’s mouth fell open, and some chicken fell out, but she barely noticed, and Murphy was staring at the ceiling, so he didn't see a thing. She brushed it off the desk and into the bin, swallowing the remains of her mouthful, trying to formulate a response. John Murphy? Married? That couldn’t be right. She lifted her glass to her lips, trying to use the burn of the whiskey to refocus.

He cleared his throat, “I mean, I don’t know when yet, or exactly how, but I bought a ring yesterday.”

Clarke choked on her drink. His eyes dropped back to her, an anxious look on his face, and she shook her head, trying to reassure him, “no, it’s a _great idea,”_ she sputtered, “I just never thought I’d see the day.”

“I’ve been with Emori for two years, you’ve known me for seven months, you genuinely never thought I’d get married?”

“That’s not fair, are you forgetting tenth grade?” Clarke poured herself another glass and Murphy rolled his eyes. 

Of all her friends in Polis, Murphy was the only one she had previous contact with – her father had represented Murphy’s in his civil suit against the hospital for not giving him the correct medication. She and Murphy had been forced to spend months together, in Jake’s office, or Murphy’s place: a run-down apartment downtown, with no hot water and never enough food in the fridge. His mother was reserved, but not unkind, and his father was sweet – John had taken longer to warm up to her than his parents, but once he did, he started inviting her around even when Jake wasn’t there. They had gotten on like a house on fire, Clarke at fifteen and Murphy proud to be newly sixteen, arguing and joking together and slowly getting closer. Clarke had thought that maybe, just maybe, given some time, she would have a friend in John Murphy. Which would have brought her friend count at the time up to two. 

Jake eventually won his case, and they had been awarded a small settlement, but Murphy’s mother had stolen it and run away, leaving a sick man in charge of a sixteen-year-old with a sudden bitterness stemming from his mother’s abrupt absence from his life. His father had gotten sicker, bedridden, the illness having been mistreated too long, and Murphy had to drop out of school and get a job to support them both. Then, one afternoon, he got into a fight with someone on his street, causing enough trouble to get arrested. He was carted off to juvie, and while he was there, his father died. When she’d tried to find him afterwards, his number was disconnected and his old apartment was empty. 

After a year or so, she became resigned to the fact that Murphy was gone, and she readjusted her friend count back to one. 

So when Octavia had brought her to The Dead Zone that first night, they’d seen each other in the line, as O had tried to introduce her to everyone. They had both pointed aggressively, other hands on their mouths, eyes locked on each other.

  
  


_“No fucking way, Griffin,” he said, eyebrows practically flying off his face._

_“This is insane!” Clarke gasped, and after a long moment of staring, while his friends looked on, completely baffled, he gripped her in a hug. It was awkward, stilted, but neither of them seemed overly bothered by it, too surprised to feel anything but disbelief._

_“I tried to visit you after I got out of juvie, but I didn’t have any money, and interestingly enough, doormen at rich apartment complexes don’t let in Oliver Twist types just because they claim they have a friend in the building,” Murphy had joked into her shoulder, and she snorted._

_“You should have just thrown a rock at him, I heard that helped last time,” she snarked, referring to how he’d ended up in juvie, and he poked her in the ribs._

_“You didn’t get any nicer,” he teased as they pulled apart._

_“Neither did you,” she responded, shaking her head in amazement, “ten years, and I find you because you’re friends with a secretary at my dad’s old firm?”_

_“Honestly, I never thought I’d see you again,” Murphy grinned, “didn’t expect you to show up in a place like this.”_

_“Of all the gin joints…” Clarke trailed away, waving her hand to imply the rest._

_The girl who had been standing beside him stepped forward, and Clarke took in the black tattoo that curled around her face with some trepidation. The girl glared at Murphy, her hand curled around his elbow, “sorry, but what the fuck is going on?”_

_“Oh, Emori, this is Clarke, we were…” he paused, as if waiting for her approval, which Clarke was more than happy to give with an enthusiastic nod, “…friends for a while, when we were… god, sixteen? And Clarke, this is my girlfriend Emori.”_

_As his gaze switched to his girlfriend, he relaxed immediately from head to toe, staring adoringly at her. Clarke gaped at him, “John Murphy are you in love? John “I had sex with a random girl behind the bleachers because I thought it made me cool” Murphy, is in love? John “love is stupid and pointless, never love anything” Murphy is in love?” John “I didn’t–”_

_He cut her off, “okay, Captain Dramatic, simmer down. I remember embarrassing stories about you too, you know.”_

_They were nearly at the front of the line now, and she had yet to really meet anyone else, but the other people there, Raven, Jasper, Monty and Lincoln seemed to be just as engrossed in the drama as she was. Octavia had beamed so hard Clarke thought her face might split in half, “this is perfect. It’s like fate. Also, we’re definitely going to need those embarrassing stories.”_

  
  


Murphy put his feet up on her desk, “tenth grade was ten years ago.”

“You told me you didn’t believe in true love,” Clarke pointed her fork at him to emphasise her point. 

“Ten years ago.”

“You told me all girls were good for was sex, except for me, but only because you didn’t think I would be any good at it,” she said, sipping her whiskey. 

He grimaced, “Well, it’s not news to you that I am an asshole, but again, _ten years ago.”_

“You said you once slept with a girl you didn’t like because she told you she would give you head.”

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Ten years ago, Griffin. May I remind you that ten years ago, you rushed into my kitchen one afternoon to tell me that you kissed a girl, and wanted to know if that made you gay?”

Clarke flicked some rice off her fork at him, and it landed in his hair. He didn’t even bother to brush it out, he just flashed her a wolfish, self-satisfied grin: he knew he’d won. 

“Fine, ten years is a long time, but I still know you, John Murphy, and this is _a huge deal.”_ She said solemnly.

His arrogance faded slightly, “yeah I know. But I love her. I know I’m making the right decision... Anyway, what about you, who’s this mysterious guy you’re dating? Octavia doesn’t like him.”

“That’s just cause he’s stealing our lunch dates,” Clarke noticed the sudden change in topic, but she knew better than to press the issue. She had a feeling that Murphy hadn’t told anyone about his plans to propose yet, that she was the first, and she felt privileged that he still trusted her so implicitly after all this time. She didn’t want to push it. 

“Ah, I see. C’mon, spill,” he tipped the last of his egg noodles into his mouth and waited, chewing. 

“Cage Wallace,” she admitted, and his eyes widened fractionally. 

He swallowed, and it looked like a painful amount of food, because he squinted a little as it went down. He kept starting questions and then changing his mind, stopping himself, “are you… did you… since… _really?”_

She shrugged, “kinda. It’s a confusing situation.”

“I’ve got time,” he said, leaning back with his hands behind his head. John Murphy could make himself at home anywhere. 

She glanced at her watch and sighed, “but I don’t. I’ll catch you up some other time.”

He grumbled as he got to his feet, “You better.”

She packed up the remaining food and he tried to make her keep them, save them for later, but she shook her head, “take it to Bellamy, if you leave it here, I’ll just forget about it until it goes off in the fridge.”

“Fine, but if you don’t text me a photo of your dinner tomorrow, I’m going to drive all the way over here again, and be as inconvenient and distracting as possible until you eat something.”

“So you’ll just be yourself?” She joked, and he flipped her off as he disappeared down the hall. 

Clarke was left feeling a little less content, her office growing bigger and emptier than it had been before he arrived, becoming her separate universe again. She felt a wave of exhaustion crest behind her eyes, and she found herself wishing for her bed. She stretched against the back of her chair and rolled her head around, before bending over the files once more, eyes flitting down the page until every last hint of sun had abandoned the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter got away from me a bit, but I couldn't decide a good place to split it in half, so you get a nice long chunk of plot and backstory, hurray!
> 
> I hope you like it, and thank you for reading it!


	3. You're Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cage comes to dinner and Clarke tries to balance the life she was born into with the friends she chose.

The next day, she was sitting in her office, working through her lunch hour, again, when Cage dropped in. He pulled up a chair beside her and handed her fries and a milkshake that he'd bought from her favourite diner. They talked about all the new movies that Clarke didn’t have time to see, and Cage promised that he’d marathon them with her when she had some time, which did make her smile: a completely genuine, unforced, upturn of her lips. Eventually, the conversation turned a little more personal again, and Clarke pushed her laptop aside so she could give him her full attention. They talked about their personal politics versus the politics they were expected to have, and about childhood pets. They discussed past relationships, and celebrity crushes, and Clarke found herself feeling more relaxed than she had ever thought she could feel in Cage Wallace's company. 

A mischievous grin overtook his face, and he leaned forward on his knees, eyeing her up.

“So, Miss Griffin, how many dates does it take for one to warm you up?” He asked, all ruthless charm. 

“I’m not sure what you mean?” She asked innocently, knowing exactly what he meant. 

“I mean, Clarke, when are you going to invite me over to your apartment? Or should I invite you to mine?”

Her stomach fell into her shoes, and all the calm she'd been nursing disappeared, replaced with nerves, “Uh, well…”

He was resting a hand on her knee, and she noticed how he slid it up further when he shuffled forward, “I really like you, Clarke. I think we should at least give this a try, right? All this waiting, it’s just killing me. I want to know what you feel like.”

Her mouth felt dry and she feigned ignorance at the subtext of the conversation, choosing to take his words at face value, “If I’m honest, Cage, I never feel really comfortable inviting someone around to my place unless there are friends there, at least the first time. And I’m not certain you’d like my friends, they’re not all the same… calibre of person as you or I.”

God, she hated herself. 

“Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?” He was letting her change the subject from the almost blatant sexual proposition to a discussion about her friends, so she hoped that might be the end of it, at least for now. She wasn’t remotely ready to consider that with Cage, not yet.

“I suppose, but I would have to organise dinner or something…”

He smiled, but it looked a little forced, “Playing hard to get, I see? Alright Miss Griffin, dinner at your place, next Friday? I can’t wait to meet all your friends.”

She tried not to show her displeasure on her face: that had really backfired. She had hoped the mention of being around people he clearly thought of as below him would throw him off, but unfortunately, he took it in stride. 

The second he left her office, Octavia poked her head in the door, eyebrows raised as she quipped, “How was your beau?”

“Um… He’s coming to my place next Friday, for dinner.”

“You and him, alone? Clarke, I don’t like that,” she said, her irritation immediately giving way to concern, and it was like the last week of barely interacting hadn’t happened – they were back to normal in an instant.

“I know. That’s why you’re going to be there. Actually, I’m inviting everyone.”

* * *

* * *

Clarke sipped her second coffee, as the empty plates were cleared from the table, and pretended not to notice that it was her mother’s fifth glass of wine.

“How’s Cage?” 

She shrugged, “he’s good. You probably know more than me, talking to Dante all the time,” she bit her tongue to remind herself to slow down on the cynicism, “he’s coming to dinner at my place next Friday, to meet all my friends.”

“Well that should be nice,” Abby smiled, lifting her drink in her left hand and suspending it in the air between them, her wedding ring clinking against the glass. The noise filled up the space, made the air charged somehow, more expectant.

Clarke hesitated for a moment, “I don’t think he actually wanted to meet my friends, I think he just wanted... something.”

“What do you mean?” Abby asked, giving her an odd look.

“Nothing, I just… He wants to sleep with me,” Clarke wished she had a glass of champagne, like her mother, “and I don’t want to.”

“Have you tried to tell him this? I’m sure he’d respect your wishes.”

She drew in a shaky breath, and finally voiced the fear she’d been sitting on for the past week, “I’m not sure he would, Mom. He’s pretty… insistent.”

“It’s just for a few months, Clarke,” Abby said, like she was suggesting she join a gym rather than have sex with a person she wasn’t even sure she liked yet.

Clarke’s mouth dropped open, “Are you… are you implying that I should just sleep with him?”

“I’m not trying to be mean, sweetheart, I’m just thinking this situation might be easier to cope with if you were behaving more like a couple.” Abby put her elbows on the table as she shifted forward, trying to appear sympathetic to her daughter's worries, but it just reminded Clarke why she never talked to anyone about her problems, especially her mother. It filled her with a frustration she couldn't quell, and she suddenly needed a drink. 

“You mean if I was performing womanly duties?” Clarke snatched the glass out of her mother’s hand and downed the whole thing in one, “Real progressive of you, Mom.”

A waiter immediately brought over another one, which Abby took, daintily bringing it to her lips.

“Don’t do anything you don’t want to do, Clarke, I mean that,” Abby said, “but if you can make him think that he’s getting the best deal out of this, it’ll make your life easier for the next few months, and beyond, if you decide you really work together.”

“Thanks Mom,” she snapped, grabbing her bag from over the back of the chair, “see you next week.”

* * *

* * *

“That’s the last time I try to explain anything to my Mom,” Clarke groaned.

“Well, if it makes frustrated enough to drive over here and take me against my dresser, I suggest doing it every day.” Lexa said, tracing shapes on her stomach.

She was lying, naked, sprawled across the covers of Lexa’s bed, and soft music was playing from the speaker in the corner. Lexa was smiling at her from where her head was tucked into the pillow, an almost dazed look of contentment on her face, but Clarke was still conflicted. 

“I do agree though,” the dark-haired woman continued, “It’s hard being a lesbian – or bisexual – in a normal environment, I can’t imagine what it’s like when you have to conceal it.”

“Conceal it by dating a man whose family I hate,” Clarke reiterated.

“Well, anytime you need a break from _Rich White Guy number eight million and five_ , you can always come round here,” she offered.

“Really?” Clarke asked, rolling over on top of her.

Lexa giggled, “Absolutely.”

“I might just take you up on that,” she said, leaning down to kiss the smirk off her face.

* * *

* * *

As it turned out, she took her up on the offer four more times that week.

Every day that Cage visited her for lunch, she finished work, started driving towards home and ended up at Lexa’s. It was nice, but she wished she could do it more publicly. She really did like the woman – they got on uncommonly well, and the sex was better than anything Clarke had experience in a long time. But Clarke was, at least publicly, dating Cage Wallace. And even though she was certain he was also sleeping with other women, she had a sense that he probably wouldn't be so forgiving if he found out that she was.

She had been dating Cage for three weeks, and by the time the next Friday rolled around, it felt more like three years. He had come into her office every day for lunch that week, asking her about her friends: who they were, what they did for work, how she met them. Which was almost ironic, because his monopolisation of her time meant that she barely saw them. 

She’d been terse and vague in her responses, and on Friday when he swung by, he kissed her cheek and told her he couldn’t wait to meet her friends, while running his hand over her ass. She tried not to think about what that meant.

She lived in a fancy apartment towards the top of a high-rise building in the centre of Polis, and not many of her friends had ever visited it. Mostly, it was because she felt bad. None of her friends earned as much money as her and bringing them to her ridiculously upmarket apartment felt too much like parading her wealth around in front of them. 

Octavia arrived an hour early, with Bellamy and Raven in tow. Octavia had visited a few times, and Raven had been once, but seeing as Bellamy wasn’t her friend, he had never been anywhere near her apartment. He was gazing around with a mixture of awe and resentment on his face, and she couldn’t honestly blame him. 

“I picked them up from work, so they’re both a bit covered in grease and oil,” Octavia said, darting into the kitchen to make cocktails at Clarke’s kitchen bar.

“Perfect!” Clarke grinned. 

“Well, that’s the first and last time I ever hear anyone say that about being covered in car juices,” Raven said, matching her enthusiastic smile. 

“I can’t wait for Cage to judge the kinds of people I spend time with and realise that this relationship is a mistake,” Clarke gushed. She didn't want to hurt Cage, but she didn't really want to date him either, and the easiest way to get out of it was if he would opt out first. She didn't actually believe he would break up with her just because of the company she kept, but anything that Cage found out, Dante would know, and maybe he would decide for his son that Clarke was an unsuitable choice. It was worth a shot. Raven looped an arm around her waist.

“So glad my unwashed physique turns you on so much, Griffin,” she ribbed, and Clarke hugged her back. 

“What can I say, I’m a simple gal,” Clarke said, and Bellamy smirked. 

“Yeah this place looks _real_ simple, Princess,” he noted sarcastically, and she felt her hackles rise, but before she had a chance to say anything, there was a rap at her door. 

Jasper and Monty cheered when she opened it, both dressed in hoodies and jeans, and Monty started telling her about the odd looks they’d gotten in the lobby. Murphy and Emori arrived soon after them, and Lincoln turned up just minutes later. Bellamy had sagged in relief at not having to drive a soon-to-be-drunk Octavia home, until Raven pointed out that he was still _her_ ride.

“I can’t believe I have to be sober for this bullshit,” he grumbled, and Lincoln shrugged, commiserative.

“It’s been a while, Griffin,” Murphy said, cocking his head at her. 

“It’s been a week, dick,” but she was smiling warmly at him, and her words had no bite, “and Cage has been sort of occupying all my time lately, the little time I have anyway.”

“Yeah, Raven said something about that,” he was absentmindedly stroking Emori’s ribs as he spoke, “I still don’t understand why you’re dating this guy, he doesn’t seem like your type.”

“Yeah? What’s my type?” She challenged, and he tutted at her. 

“Handsome rogues like myself, of course,” he quipped, and Emori rolled her eyes good-naturedly. 

“You should bring him to one of John’s fights sometime,” she suggested, “if illegal underground boxing rings aren’t the perfect test of the strength of a relationship, I don’t know what is.”

“I have a feeling he’d probably feel right at home,” Clarke scrunched up her nose, “He’s Dante Wallace’s son.”

She hadn’t mentioned that to everyone yet – Octavia, Raven, Bellamy and Murphy all knew, but the rest of her friends looked genuinely surprised. Monty’s eyes widened slightly, but it was Emori who spoke, “Shit, Clarke, you sure you know what you’re doing here?”

“Absolutely not,” Clarke joked, but she felt her blood run a little colder. If Emori didn’t like someone, odds are they were really bad news, and there was an element of irritation in her friends’ expressions now. Everyone knew about Dante Wallace, about the things he’d done, and even if Cage was publicly a decent person, there was always the suspicion that he might be involved in his father’s dealings somehow. She didn’t want everyone to know the circumstances of her relationship to the Wallaces – even Octavia didn’t know the full story – so she had to be okay with her friends thinking a little less of her, at least for now. She clapped Murphy on the shoulder, “Make yourself at home, Murphy.”

“There’s nothing homely about this, Griffin, it’s a marble palace,” he snorted, “I feel more like a cockroach than a person.”

Jasper ducked into the kitchen with Octavia and squealed in excitement. 

“CLARKEY! YOU HAVE A BAR!?” He yelled, and she winced. The others followed his voice and she traipsed in after them, embarrassed. 

“Yep. Alcohol is an important staple of the Griffin family diet,” she said casually.

“Did it come with the apartment? It looks different?” Monty asked, running his hands along the dark wood, and he was right, it stood out a mile in her white kitchen. 

“Uh, no, my… my dad built it,” she said softly, “it used to be at his old lake-house but after Mom sold it, I made sure it ended up here.”

“Hell yes! I can’t believe you have a BAR in your APARTMENT!” Jasper fist-pumped the air and she plastered an amiable expression on her face, trying to hide the sudden pang of grief she’d felt for her father in that moment. In truth, she hadn’t thought about that lake-house in years, but now she wanted nothing more than to be back there, with him, skimming stones and pretending to fish. 

Everyone else gathered around it, gushing about the collection of bottles it held, and the nice glasses they decided to use, but Clarke hung back. Jasper started pouring dashes of every different bottle he could get his hands on into a large empty vase he grabbed from the windowsill. 

“You’re gonna give yourself alcohol poisoning,” Bellamy was scowling, “Not to mention that looks disgusting.”

“Ye of little faith!” Jasper and Monty said at the same time, and self-fived. 

Raven started grabbing plates from the shelf to put the food on, Lincoln grabbed the tray of roast fish out of the oven, Octavia was laughing at something Emori said, and Clarke just wanted the night to stay like this, without the person she’d specifically invited. Once Cage arrived, she would have to be the person he expected of her – a high society lawyer, with ties to politics and charities; not a girl spending time with her friends, no pomp and circumstance required. She would have to balance the person she had to be in her mother’s circles with the person she was at heart, and it was going to hurt. 

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 

And then there was a knock on the door. 

She opened it to find Cage Wallace in a suit, holding roses, which she was allergic to, and smelling like a cologne which she may as well have been allergic to because it felt like her nostrils were on fire, it was on so thick. 

She smiled and let him kiss her cheek and took the roses from his outstretched hand, if only for the opportunity to say, “I’ll put these in some water,” and move back to the kitchen, where the warmth of her friends could bolster her anxious heart.

He followed her into the kitchen and she put the flowers in the sink, due to her largest vase being hijacked, garnering odd looks from both Raven and Octavia. Bellamy was sulking in the corner, watching Jasper with an air of motherly disapproval as he finished emptying the cupboards of bottles. Monty had his phone out, ready to film Jasper as he lifted the huge glass vase to his mouth. Murphy and Emori were kissing by the oven, completely wrapped up in each other, to the point where they’d probably forgotten why they were even there. Octavia, Lincoln and Raven were leaning against the bar, but they stood up a little straighter when Cage appeared around the corner.

“Hey everyone, this is Cage Wallace, my… boyfriend,” well, she said it. Didn’t like it, definitely didn’t want to keep saying it, but she managed it once. She stood back, arms crossed over herself uncomfortably, not sure what else to say.

Raven was the first to say anything, stepping into the open with her hand outstretched, “It’s nice to meet you, Wallace, I’m Raven.”

“I figured, from the oil,” he said, sounding only a little disdainful as he shook her hand, a politician’s smile plastered on his face.

Raven stepped across him and hugged Clarke around the waist briefly. Clarke kissed her cheek and whispered thanks in her ear. 

Cage watched the two of them with an odd look, but quickly shook it off and glanced around, “Which means the other grease monkey must be Octavia’s brother…”

Bellamy’s jaw twitched, but to his credit, he didn’t say a word.

“…and you must be Octavia,” Cage turned his gaze onto the short, dark-haired woman, flashing a flirtatious smile, “I’ve heard a lot about you. Thought you might come in for lunch with us this week, but Clarke said you’ve been busy.”

Clarke squinted, because she was pretty sure she hadn’t said anything of the kind, and Octavia shot her a look that told her they would definitely be having an argument about it later, but Cage was beaming at the younger Blake in that charming way of his, and she turned her attention back to the man. She fluttered her eyelashes right back at him, inflating his ego a little more. Clarke could practically see it at this point: it was almost a physical being, like Peter Pan’s shadow, hovering over him.

“Likewise,” she smiled, and wrapped her hand around Lincoln’s bicep, “this is my boyfriend, Lincoln.”

Cage nodded silently, shaking his hand, clearly more than a little frightened of the man with arms as thick as tree trunks, no matter how polite and gentle he was.

“So that makes you two Murphy and Emori,” he schmoozed and they grinned back before returning to making out with each other. He turned, “and Jasper and Monty, I’m guessing?”

Jasper, who had been in the middle of downing his large cocktail of seemingly all the drinks in the cabinet only raised a thumbs up and kept drinking, but Monty offered him a hand and a smile. “It’s nice to meet you. How did you meet Clarke?”

Cage was clearly uncomfortable with the kinds of people he was sharing space with for the next few hours, but he plastered a false happy expression on his face when he draped his arm over her shoulder. She crossed her arms more tightly, trying not to look uncomfortable when he said, “Our parents set us up. We’re a good match, they’re presuming we’ll get engaged before long, and once we’re married, our combined names will have a lot more swing behind them.”

Clarke needed whatever Jasper was having.

If she was lucky, maybe it would kill her. 

“Wow, like an arranged marriage? I thought that only happened in like, other countries,” Jasper said, gasping slightly from the effort of downing such a massive drink in under a minute.

“No, it happens everywhere – in this country it tends to skew more towards rich families keeping their money where it deserves to be,” Wallace explained, and he placed his hand possessively over the small of her back. Clarke dug her nails into her forearm, trying not to react. If she reacted negatively, Cage would be irritated, and if she reacted as if she agreed with him, her friends would be disgusted with her. So she tried as hard as possible to keep her expression neutral. 

Her friends were staring between her and Wallace, trying to decide if he meant it to offend or if it was just how he felt. Bellamy’s concerned look had switched from Jasper to Clarke, and his eyes were trained on her, like he knew she wasn't as perfectly fine as she was pretending to be, which was odd, because no-one else had noticed.

“Right. Well I suppose that makes sense,” Octavia’s tone was sickly sweet, but her eyes were saying something murderous. In fact, the light, bubbly tone that had been occupying the place since Octavia arrived had vanished, replaced with a forced air of cheeriness and tension you could cut with a knife. 

“So, what’s for dinner?” Cage asked, either oblivious to the change of atmosphere, or uncaring, and Clarke swallowed, pressing her nails in harder. 

“Fish,” she said stepping behind the counter so she could start plating it up. 

Bellamy and Raven immediately moved with her, grabbing cutlery. “Go sit at the table, we’ll bring it out to you,” Raven waved everyone away, “Cage, get more acquainted with everyone, I’m sure Octavia has loads of stories about Clarke she can tell you.”

The second the last member of the party had rounded the corner, Clarke released her arm, and Bellamy grabbed it and lifted it into the light, “Jesus, Princess, what did you do?”

She hadn’t realised just how tightly she’d been gripping herself, and some of the crescent shaped marks had drawn blood. He was holding her wrist carefully, almost reverently, and his expression was something bordering on worried, which is something she’d never seen from him unless Octavia was involved.

“I wasn’t paying attention,” she muttered, and he and Raven shared a look over her shoulder. 

“Bellamy and I have got this, why don’t you go put some antiseptic on those, and then find a sweater you can put on,” Raven suggested, “I’m sure your… I’m sure you don’t want him to see.”

Clarke nodded and stepped past them into her room, taking a few deep breaths. She could hear the two of them having a hushed argument, but she tried to ignore it and focus on covering her arms.

She emerged a minute later with loose pink pullover on, and Raven gave her the all-clear nod, but Bellamy was scowling. 

“Something wrong, Bellamy?” She asked lightly, grabbing the serving dish. Raven disappeared into the dining room, plates in hand.

“I don’t like this," he said, his eyes focussed on the lettuce he was dumping into a bowl, but it felt like he was deliberately avoiding her eyes, and she couldn't understand why. She caught his eyes subtly flick up to check her arm though, and it made her tug at her sleeve self-consciously, until his gaze returned to the salad. At least he was being honest, which is more than she could say for herself. 

_“Too bad,”_ she hissed as she passed him, “You’re Raven’s ride home, and she’s getting as drunk as I’m about to, if I have anything to say about it.”

“That is _not_ what I meant,” he said, but she was already around the corner and approaching the table, smile adorning her face like a tacky ornament on a Christmas tree. 

Cage had seated himself at the head of the table, of course, and Octavia was on his right, Lincoln beside her. Monty and Jasper were next, next to two empty chairs, one on their side and one at the end of the table. Raven was on the other side, facing them. On her right were Emori, then Murphy, and two empty seats. Bellamy would definitely want to sit next to his best friend, so there was no chance of him sitting far away. 

Great – she’d have to sit between the two people she didn’t want to be anywhere near.

“That’s a nice colour on you,” Cage’s tone was genuine, but his eyes were seductively raking over her, and she had a feeling he was more concerned with what was under the sweater than the garment itself.

“Thanks,” she managed, putting the dish in the center of the table and taking her place next to him. Bellamy followed close behind her, slamming the salad bowl down a little too hard. Octavia shot him a look, but he just shook his head and sat down next to Murphy, immediately striking up a conversation with him as if Clarke didn't exist.

Cage didn’t even seem to notice; his eyes were trained on Clarke. 

“Your friends are wonderful too, Clarke,” the lie was dripping with honey, “I can’t believe it’s taken us nearly a month for you to introduce me. Of course, you know all mine, from different charity dinners and such; Emerson, Lorelei, Diana, Becca… all politicians and doctors, I’m afraid, nothing as interesting as your friends.”

“That’s sweet,” she was smiling at him. It was automatic: she was used to smiling while she screamed internally. She accidentally elbowed Bellamy when she was pouring herself a glass of wine and he glared at her.

“Watch it, Princess!”

“You could have sat over there,” she griped, gesturing at the two vacant chairs, “then you wouldn’t be in pain right now.”

“Ah but how could I resist your charms, Princess?” He said mockingly, making their friends laugh. It was a typical dance between them, one that their friends had long since become accustomed to. Now instead of trying to stop them arguing, they just found it quietly amusing, which was more than could be said for Bellamy, who continued to give her a death stare.

She glowered back, but said nothing, and when she looked back at Cage, there was a dark, almost aggressive expression on his face. It vanished as quickly as it came, replaced with a mask of charisma and a wry smile.

“Octavia was telling me about a club downtown that you all like. It sounds… interesting,” he mentioned, and Clarke knew that it wasn’t the first he’d heard of the club. Dante had certainly mentioned it when he’d shown him the photos of her emerging from it with Lexa. It was nice of him to pretend he didn’t know, and she nodded along.

“Yeah, it’s not like anything up here,” Clarke agreed, “it’s a lot less, uh, refined, I guess.”

She caught the vaguely bothered looks her friends couldn’t conceal at her comment and guilt washed over her. She rammed her the nails of her left hand into her thigh under the table, forcing herself to keep a straight face, picking up a piece of bread in the other and lifting it to her mouth. She hated doing this to them. She could handle being around that kind of attitude, pretending to agree – she did it every day – but this was so unfair on her friends. 

"What do you do, Mr Wallace?" Jasper asked, shoving roasted tomatoes in his mouth as he spoke. 

She gripped her leg more forcefully.

The conversation moved to different things, headed by Jasper’s enthusiasm for everything, but she wasn’t listening. Her leg stung, and she leaned into the pain, trying so hard to keep her expression neutral and her voice steady as she commented and laughed with her friends. Trying not to betray how stressed she was about the meeting of her two worlds.

After a minute, she felt something touch the back of her hand under the table. She flinched slightly, and then strong fingers were wrapping around her own, prying them away from her leg. Bellamy turned her hand over so her palm was facing upwards, flattening it gently and withdrew his own. 

She glanced over at him, but he wasn’t even looking at her, seemingly completely immersed in a discussion with Murphy about their high school days. 

“What do you think, Clarke?” Cage’s voice snapped her back into the moment. 

She frowned, “Sorry, about what?”

“I thought it might be a nice idea if, next Friday, to celebrate our one-month anniversary…”

Clarke nearly choked on her fish, but just about managed to stay composed. 

“…I could come with you to that club you all like so much? Spend more time with your friends, see how the other half lives.”

She couldn’t think of anything worse than doing this again, pretending that her life wasn’t a total mess for the sake of a relationship she wasn’t even sure she wanted, but she also couldn’t think of a suitable excuse to say no. She wanted to throw up when she heard herself say, “That’s a great idea! I’d love that.”

He looked pleased with himself, “Excellent.”

* * *

* * *

Her friends filed out of the apartment one by one, and she was drunk, but that was okay because the second they were gone, she was going to curl up in a ball in her bed and never come out. Eventually, the only people left hovering by the door were herself, Cage, Raven and Bellamy. Raven was more drunk than she was, leaning heavily on Bellamy, whose gaze kept shifting between the two women warily.

“I love you, Clarke,” Raven gushed, “you’re the most beautiful broom… in a broom closet, full of brooms.”

“Aw, I love you too, Ray, but that makes no sense,” Clarke pulling her into a hug.

When she released her, Raven stumbled backwards, and Bellamy ended up basically carrying her to the door. He paused, his foot stopping her from closing it, and gave Clarke a meaningful look, “Are you sure you’re alright? I can stay and help clean up, if you like?”

She was about to answer when Cage stepped in front, “I’ve got it, but thanks.”

Then everyone was gone and she was alone with Cage in her apartment.

This was not the plan.

He gripped her wrists and shoved her up against the closed door, the handle digging into her hip. She was more prepared for it when he kissed her this time, but that didn’t make it any less bewildering, or terrifying. Especially now that there was no escape. She was in her own apartment, drunk, at midnight – she could hardly claim she needed to be somewhere else.

His hands were too tight around her wrists, and she tried to say so, but he just kissed her more insistently.

“Cage, I’m really tired,” she said, “I just want to go to bed.”

“You’re a fucking tease, Clarke Griffin. Spend all night flirting with everyone else and won’t even let your boyfriend fuck you the way he wants.” He sounded a little on edge, breathing into her ear, and a shiver ran down her spine.

“Flirting? I wasn’t flirting with anyone,” she was confused: she was pretty sure she wasn’t so drunk that she wouldn’t remember flirting.

The expression on his face was twisted, and even in the bright lights of her apartment, it felt like there were shadows crossing it.

“You’re mine, Clarke. Not Raven’s, not Bellamy’s. Mine.”

He kissed her again, and she was too drunk to put up a fight, so she just waited until he released her. He stepped back and she finally moved forward enough for the door handle to stop jabbing her. She opened it slowly and he smiled at her as he left, a greedy, self-satisfied smirk on his face. It didn’t make sense. He said they weren’t exclusive, but he wanted her all to himself. She couldn’t imagine what he would say if he found out about Lexa, but she was too drunk to pull her muddled thoughts together. 

And when she was sure that he wasn’t going to try come back in, she sank down onto the floor, pressing her hot skin against the cold tiles, and tried not to think about what an awful mess she’d gotten herself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this chapter was simultaneously fun AND stressful to write, but I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> I really love reading your comments, they brighten my day, and thank you for kudos! I really appreciate anyone taking the time out of their day to read this. 
> 
> Much love to all of you <3


	4. What Kind Of Person Are You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke has to work late, and Cage becomes a little more intense than she's used to. Bellamy stops by.

When she woke up the next morning, hungover and tired, she barely had five minutes to shower before she drove to meet her mother for lunch. She didn’t have time to think about the hazy memory of Cage’s jealousy, or the way he’d pushed her against the door, and she would have believed she dreamed it, if not for the bruise on her hip that she’d noticed as she pulled on her skirt. She even had faint marks on her wrists from where he’d gripped her, similar to the ones she’d made on her own arms, so she wore bracelets and long sleeves and tried not to think about it.

“How’s Cage?” Her mother asked, in a way that implied he was a regular fixture of her life. Which, unfortunately, he was.

“He’s good,” Clarke said, trying not to think about the way he’d cornered her the night before, “He met my friends last night, and he seemed to like them well enough. Even offered to come to The Dead Zone with us next Friday.”

Abby nodded, but she looked displeased, “You’re taking him to a seedy bar?”

“Seedy _club_ , Mom, and I’m sure he’s been plenty of places like that in his life. In fact I’m pretty sure he belongs there, surrounded by women and no consequences.” It was hard to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

Her mother pretended she hadn’t heard, as she always did with uncomfortable conversation topics, and offered her a muffin from her bag, “Marcus sent a basket over, in an unprecedented show of his baking skills.”

“He didn’t order them?” Clarke asked sceptically, taking the delicious looking cake and peeling the paper off it. 

“Nope. Made them. Wove the basket himself too, apparently. That’s another one of his hobbies – woodworking and basket-weaving. Who weaves baskets as a hobby? It was a big thing, too, it wasn’t a tiny children’s basket, it was a full– what? Why are you looking at me like that?” Her nostrils flared, vexed, and Clarke couldn’t help but laugh.

“Mom, you’re so in love with Marcus Kane,” she smiled knowingly.

Abby flushed, “No, I’m not.”

“Yes you are. You’re complaining about him doing sweet things for you, like you used to do with Dad, to hide that fact that you secretly love it,” Clarke bit into the muffin; it was raspberry and white chocolate, and it melted in her mouth. She sighed happily, “And if he keeps baking things like this, I won’t even tease him when you finally start dating. I’ll be the perfect daughter, at least when he’s around.”

Abby raised an eyebrow, “I should date him for that reason alone.”

Clarke snorted, and made sure she stole a couple more muffins as she left.

* * *

* * *

On Sunday, she had organised with Octavia and Raven to go to the movies, because as Raven put it;  
_“how can you call yourself a bisexual if you haven’t seen Ocean’s 8?”_

She was excited: this was the first time she’d been able to do something with her two best friends in weeks, and she wasn’t going to waste it. She was dressed and ready to go, keys in hand as she walked towards the elevator, and then her phone rang. She knew before she glimpsed the screen who it was, and she felt all the positive energy leave her body at the speed of sound. She leaned against the hallway wall and watched as the elevator numbers counted slowly up to her floor.

“Hello Ma'am?”

“Ah, Miss Griffin, I’m glad I caught you,” Nia Kingsley said, her voice business-like, but with a hint of that sadistic glee she always took in her subordinates’ misfortunes, “I understand that this is your day off, but I need you to come back to the office.”

Clarke slumped, just as the doors opened with a cheery ping and she tried very hard to keep her sigh internal, “Sorry?”

“There’s an important case that we need your help on,” she said slowly, like she was talking to a child, “And you have been specially requested. This could help your prospects of making partner, not to mention getting your foot in the door with our biggest client.”

She knew who it was before she asked, but she had to, “Who requested me?”

“Dante Wallace,” Nia said, as if bestowing a gift on her, “And I expect you to be here in under an hour.”

Clarke checked her watch, but she already knew it was too late – she would have to cancel her plans. The doors to the elevator slid shut and it started shifting between the floors again, clearly not willing to wait for her any longer. She promised she would be at work soon and Nia hung up. The silence at the end of the call was deafening, and Clarke wished she had just ignored it and made her excuses later. She pressed the button to bring the elevator back to her floor, quickly dialling Raven. 

“Hey Griffin, how do you feel about cinema food preferences, because I want popcorn, but this _philistine,”_ she directed the insult away from the microphone, which made Clark smile, “Wants hot dogs, but I told her that was crazy. Right? She’s crazy?”

“How about you compromise and get nachos?” she suggested, and Raven and Octavia both started praising her down the line, still bickering with each other while they called her an angel. Her heart ached. 

After a brief cacophony of noise, however, Raven seemed to sense that something was off, “Don’t you mean _we_ should get nachos?”

Clarke finally let out the sigh she’d been holding in since Nia called, “I have to go to work.”

There was a pause, before Raven said, very decisively, “No.”

“It’s not really my choice, Ray, it-"

“No, Clarke, you’ve been so busy lately, you’re working ridiculous hours, you’re not eating enough, you’re not sleeping enough, and now she wants you in on the one day you’re actually guaranteed off? No, I’m sorry, that’s unacceptable.”

Clarke should have been thankful that Raven wasn’t annoyed at her, but at her boss, but she was too busy feeling guilty for bailing on her friends, again. It did remind her how fiercely protective Raven was though, and she tried to undercut the sudden tension with a lame joke, “I’m not suing the best lawyer in the world for worker’s comp, Ray, I would lose.”

Raven scoffed loudly down the phone, “Nia can go die. That was your father’s firm first – his name was the first on the door.”

Clarke chuckled, “Yeah, but I think that might be why she hates me so much – Kingsley-Griffin-Jaha would never have the weight it does without my father’s reputation behind it, and she knows it. I think it’s why she rides me so hard, and why Ontari hates me.”

“Well, actually, Ontari’s just a bitch,” Octavia piped up, and Clarke snorted. 

“I have to go in. She’s looking for any excuse to make my life miserable, and if I don’t go in, it basically ruins my chances at ever making partner,” she mumbled, despondent. 

Octavia sounded more than a little bitter when she responded, “Yeah, we know. It would just be nice to see you every down and then, Griffin. You’ve gone from daily lunches with me and constant nights at my place or at The Dead Zone to being a ghost – never quite where you used to be.”

Clarke frowned, because that didn’t sound like something her friend would say, “Oddly poetic there, O?” 

She huffed, “It was something my brother said to me once, shut up.”

That explained it. Clarke sighed again, “I’ll make it up to you guys, I promise.”

And her friends agreed to hold her to it, but she was starting to notice just how much further away she felt from them now than she did fifteen minutes ago. Her pocket universe was shrinking, and she didn’t like it. She almost waved at the sun as she slid into the driver’s seat, trying to enjoy the brief moments she was in its company, because she wasn’t going to see it again for at least another week. 

She wished that she could sigh hard enough to expel the discomfort in her chest, but it never quite dissipated, sitting in the bottom of her lungs, catching every time she drew breath.

* * *

* * *

When she had arrived, Nia had greeted her with a stack of folders and a glare, and the state of her day did not improve from there. 

She had thought that, given this was a case for their most important client, she might have some people to help her, but instead, Nia informed her that she was alone, to “test her durability in the firm”, before she strode from the room, and Clarke wanted to stab her eyes out with a fountain pen. 

The worst part was that within a few minutes, she knew that she was representing the guilty party, although she could have guessed that just from Dante Wallace’s name. She had to push her moral qualms aside and just focus on the best possible defence. Sometimes she truly hated her job.

Sometime in the evening, Cage stopped in. 

“Hey baby,” he murmured, crossing the room and moving behind her, bending down to kiss her cheek, “You look busy.”

“I assume your dad told you that he asked for me to work on this case?” She didn’t even look up from the page; she just wanted to get enough work done to justify going home and crawling to bed. 

“Yeah, I had no idea he would do it on your day off though, sorry,” he said, sounding genuinely put out, and she nodded, but couldn’t bring herself to reassure him. 

She was just too tired. 

He continued, “Anyway, I was thinking, I can start spending less time here, if you really need space to work,” but he sounded so reluctant, like he wanted her to refuse, “But I also figure you should at least have some exposure to the outside world in the next few weeks, seeing as you’re not going to have time to see your friends…”

He trailed off and when she tore her eyes from the page, she realised he was waiting for her reply expectantly, his cheek pressed into hers. She tried to drag her brain from the paperwork long enough to formulate a sentence that didn’t have the word ‘affidavit’ in it. 

“Uh, yeah, no that’s fine, Cage, you can still drop by.” 

He grinned, “Excellent.”

He was still leaning down over her, and his weight started to press down a little more, his hand snaking under her shirt and around her waist. She tensed and turned her head to tell him she needed to work, but he stole the words from her lips, kissing her insistently, until she plied herself from his grip and stood, her hands out between them.

“Sorry, but if I don’t get this stuff done today, I’m going to lose even more time, and if I stop working now, I’m going to be stuck here all night trying to finish.” It was an excuse, but it was also the very obvious truth of the situation. 

He straightened up, adjusting his tie, and frowned at her. 

“If I didn’t know better, I would think you’re avoiding this.”

This wasn’t the time or the place or the situation to broach the topic, and yet she found herself speaking before she could contain it, “Actually, I’m a little nervous about it, to be honest. I’m not sure if that kind of relationship is something I want with you, and I’m worried about what will happen if we do ending up doing this and then break up, if there will be some kind of fallout.”

He seemed to think about it for a moment, but the unease was curling up her spine, draping heated fingers around her ribcage, and she immediately regretted saying anything. 

He paced closer to her, and she instinctively shuffled backwards, which made his eyes flare dangerously, “what are you so worried about, Clarke?”

She swallowed, “Nothing, I just…”

“Have I ever given you any reason to be afraid of me Clarke?” but he wasn’t asking. He was inches away from her now, face almost pressed up against hers as he raised his voice, “I think I’ve been a _perfect fucking gentleman_ in this relationship, when all you’ve done is teased me and toyed with my emotions.”

She opened her mouth to respond, to explain that he wasn’t making any sense, but he was still going, and one of his hands closed around her wrist. Her skin caught, pinched in her bracelet, and she almost laughed at how incredibly ironic it was that the thing she’d put on to hide her bruises was causing new ones, but her rational brain caught up enough to stop her. Laughing would definitely make this worse. 

“I think it’s incredibly unfair of you to manipulate me like this, to make me feel as if _I’m_ doing something wrong, when I have done nothing but treat you with respect at every turn.”

 _What the fuck is happening?_ Clarke thought, trying to work out how to get out of this confrontation without making everything worse. 

“Sorry, I’m not… I didn’t… I just…” she stammered, searching for the right words. But she was so tired, and so confused, and his anger was building. Her own panic rose to meet it; two opposing forces of emotion facing off in the silent battleground of her office, fighting silently between them, and fear is no match for rage. 

He shoved her back and raised his arm, like he was going to hit her, and she flinched back, expecting to feel the sting of the blow against her face. His grip on her wrist only intensified and her eyes stung with reflexive tears at the sharp pain of it, but he didn’t hit her. 

Instead, he released her and stepped back, his hands at his sides, all the rage gone. It had been replaced with a melancholy frown and a sag in his shoulders, “I can’t believe you would _ever_ think I would do that. I can’t believe you think so terribly about me. What kind of person are you?”

She felt the guilt in her chest, melding with the panic, but the panic had come from within, and the guilt was enveloping her, carried over from where Cage stood. They were equally suffocating, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe, trapped in her head, until she managed to choke out, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Then it was like a switch had been flicked, and he relaxed immediately, even grinning at her, “I know you didn’t. It’s okay baby, we’ll get there soon, I’m sure.”

And then he left, taking the remaining oxygen with him, and she was alone, struggling to remember how she’d ended up on the verge of tears in her office at midnight.

* * *

* * *

It was 1am, and she was still at work. 

It had taken nearly a full hour for her to calm down, after Cage left, and another twenty minutes to refocus on the task at hand, and as she glanced at the clock, she felt her heart sink. She was going to be there until the early hours of the morning, and then she was going to have to come into work at 8am – at this point, she may as well sleep in her office. 

She ran her hands over her face and groaned, trying to vent her frustrations to the empty building with the frustrated noise.

“Nice roar, Princess, although I’m not sure that’s what Katy Perry meant,” a familiar voice said, and she almost jumped out of her skin, her head shooting up to see Bellamy hovering awkwardly in the door. She groaned louder. 

“Please tell me I fell asleep at my desk and Bellamy Blake isn’t in my office?” she begged the universe, but as she tried to wrestle her heartrate back to normal, he sat down on the seat on the other side of her desk, and ran a hand through his hair. 

“In the flesh,” he muttered, glancing around, “O said you weren’t answering your phone, and when Raven drove to your place, you weren’t there. She was worried about you, and I was already uptown, so she called me and told me to check up on you. O Gave me her code to the building and everything. Gotta say, this side of town still freaks me out. Did you know that one of the cubicles out there has a rose gold picture frame covered in what I believe are _real diamonds?_ It’s not even jewellery, its just a stupid frame; they’re putting it on the thing designed to keep your photos up – I will never understand these people.”

He seemed to realise he was rambling and frowned, still taking in her office, “Why haven’t you interrupted me yet?”

She rolled her eyes, “I don’t _always_ interrupt your rants, Bellamy.”

“You’re right, sometimes Raven does it first,” he noted sardonically, and it was funny, but she barely managed a laugh. His eyes finally flicked to her, and something in his expression changed, morphing from agitated disinterest to alarm. He sat forward a little, “You okay?”

She blinked, because that question seemed to be a trigger for her, and all of a sudden, she desperately wanted to cry. She cleared her throat and looked away from him, fiddling with her stapler, “Fine.”

He reached for her hand, a comforting gesture she’d seen him extend to Octavia and Raven and even Murphy before, but when his fingertips brushed her sleeve, she flinched back, cradling her wrist to her chest. His eyes widened. 

“Princess, are you alright?” The question had changed, it was more direct, more concerned, and she just didn’t have the energy to lie. 

“No,” she sniffed, keeping the tears at bay, “No, I’m not.”

“What can I do?” Bellamy asked, pulling out his phone, “Do you need to talk to O, or Raven?”

She shook her head frantically. 

He hesitated, still in half a mind to call them anyway, but it only took for her sleeve to fall away slightly for him to make up his mind. He dropped his phone on the desk, eyes rooted to her arm, “Did you do that to yourself?”

She glanced down, and it was only then that she realised how raised and purple the bruise at her wrist had become. Once she’d taken her bracelet off, she’d pulled her sleeve up to her palm so she could work without looking at it, but when she’d looked an hour ago, it had been fresh, red. Now it had mutated into a painful splotchy mess, and she couldn’t help cringing as she looked at it. She was going to need more than a bracelet to hide this one. 

She yanked her sleeve back up, “No.”

He looked like he was going to reach out again, but thought better of it, “Who did that to you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she muttered and pretended to busy herself reading a memo she’d already gone over twice, “You did your job, tell O and Raven I’m fine; you can go back to whatever girl's bedroom you crawled out of now.”

She didn’t mean for it to come out so harsh, and she felt bad, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. A tiny part of her was afraid – scared that he would react like Cage, even though she’d never known him to behave like that in the past. That argument had really rattled her. She heard him moving, but instead of leaving, like she thought he would, he was pulling up a chair beside her, trying to catch her gaze, “Hey, talk to me, Princess, what’s going on?”

Maybe it was because it was nearly two in the morning and she was exhausted, maybe it was because she was so on edge she couldn’t remember what it was like to feel calm anymore, but as she looked across at him, she was unable to stop herself. 

“It was nothing... Cage… we just had an argument.”

The worry etched into his features became more pronounced, and a small amount of ire was there where it hadn’t been before, _“What?!_ What did he do?”

 _“Nothing,_ it’s… I’m fine, he just…” she waved her hand in the air, trying to explain, and he caught her fingers and gently guided it closer to him, pulling her sleeve away. He was so close that she could feel his warmth breath ghosting her skin, and when he accidentally bumped her bruise with his thumb, she squirmed uncomfortably, trying not to focus on the pain.

“Sorry,” he murmured, stroking her fingers with his own soothingly, “What did he do?”

“It’s not a big deal, he just… he gets pushy sometimes. I’m fine, it’s fine, it’s handled, it just… he grabbed my wrist too hard.”

“Just a little,” he snorted, but there wasn’t a single ounce of humour in it.

She let out her breath in a whoosh, and she felt some of her composure return, “I’m _fine_ , Bellamy, really. He’s just… he got frustrated when I tried to explain why I don’t feel comfortable sleeping with him yet.”

Now the expression on Bellamy’s face was unmistakeably anger, “He tried to _force himself on you?”_

“No, it wasn’t like that, it was-" and then she realised that she sounded like a battered woman. She had represented enough of them to know the signs by now, but she couldn’t believe that she was one: Cage had never hit her, and he didn’t seem to be hurting her intentionally. He even seemed upset when she suggested that he would… except she hadn’t suggested that, _he had._ She tried to collect herself, but Bellamy was still looking at her with those liquid eyes, like he could see into her head, see all the things she was trying to hide, and she unconsciously gripped at his hand, “He didn’t force himself on me, he just… when I said no, he got in my face, and he grabbed my wrist, and he… he apologised, and he left, and I’m fine. I’m overreacting, I’m fine.”

“Why haven’t you told someone?”

She shrugged, “It’s only for a few months, and I can cope with it just fine. If I tell anyone else, they might try and interfere, and then they’ll be on Dante Wallace’s radar, and bad things happen to people who attract the attention of Dante Wallace.”

He raised an eyebrow, “You say that like you know exactly what happens to those people.”

She closed her eyes; if she was going to tell him, she may as well tell all of it, “My best friend was Wells Jaha.”

Bellamy squeezed her hand, once, “I’m so sorry, that’s awful. I read about it in the papers when he was murdered – random hit and run, wasn’t it?”

Clarke felt the memory pressing against her skull, and she tried to shove it back down again, to no avail:

  
  


_Wells smiling at her like he always did, arm around her shoulder as they walked down the street, on their way to his father’s place. Wells humming Christmas carols, loudly and very off-key, poking her in the ribs as they trailed lazily along the sidewalk. The sound of a gun going off and the horrible, brutal moment when she realised that Well’s smile was off somehow, and there was something on his face. Wells crumpling to the floor in a heap, blood trickling out of the bullet wound in the centre of his forehead._

_Her screaming for help, shaking her friend as she begged him to stay alive, but by then it was already too late. A car rounding the corner with its headlamps off, bouncing up onto the curb towards them. The mind-numbing panic she felt as she threw herself into the alley to avoid being hit. The horrible noise it made as the tires ran over the still-warm body of her dead best friend._

  
  


She was brought back to reality by Bellamy’s deep voice, “Hey, Princess, you’re okay, I’m right here, you’re alright.”

She realised she had been on the verge of a panic attack, practically hyperventilating, and she cracked her eyes open to see his reaction when she panted, “No. The papers lied. He was shot.”

Bellamy balked at the revelation and she tried to catch her breath, but it was a little out of reach. She waited for him to ask the question she knew was sitting on the tip of his tongue, and he didn’t disappoint, “How do you know that?”

“Because I was there,” Clarke breathed, “I watched my only friend get shot in the head, right in front of me. His arm was still on my shoulder when he died, he was gone before he even touched the ground, and then while I was screaming for help, a car drove onto the curb and ran him over. I barely escaped with my own life, but they didn’t want to kill me. No, Dante was punishing Thelonius Jaha for prosecuting one of his men. Punishing him by murdering his only son, in front of a 19-year-old girl, home for Christmas because she’d missed her best friend so much.”

Bellamy looked something beyond horrified, and he clasped her hands carefully, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, it was six years ago. The nightmares faded after three,” the joke was distasteful, barely a joke, but something about spilling her second biggest secret to Bellamy made her feel more comfortable and less like crying, "But it was made very clear to me that if I ever breathed a word of what really happened, my family would be the next on the list. So I kept quiet." 

“Why even date Cage in the first place?”

It was a valid question, but answering it would mean telling him her biggest secret, and she wasn’t ready for that yet. Not at 2am in her office, with bruises on her arms and no food in her stomach.

“Cage isn’t like his father, and my mother asked me to,” she said, which was at least part of the truth. 

He seemed to know that she wasn’t telling the whole story, but he also understood that he shouldn’t push it. He stood up, checking his watch, “C’mon, Princess, let’s get you home.”

She shook her head, “There’s no point; I may as well sleep here – I need to be back here in six hours anyway, and it’s twenty minutes there and back, so assuming I can get to sleep immediately, which I won’t, I’ll get maximum five hours of sleep if I go home, whereas if I sleep on the couch in the corner, I can get a full six hours.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly biting back a harsh retort, “Trust me, it will help your mental state a lot better if you go to sleep in your own bed. It’s a comfort thing – don’t sleep in the same place that bad things happened to you.”

“Well my apartment is a no-go then,” she said, before she could stop herself.

_“What?”_

“I’m fine, I was kidding, I’m just trying to relieve the tension,” she said hurriedly, grabbing her bag and moving towards the door. 

“It’s not working,” he pointed out, and she laughed. 

“I can see that,” she led him out of her office and towards the elevator, “Hey, Bellamy? Please don’t tell anyone.”

He exhaled slowly through his nose, something he always did when he was thinking over big decisions, and she waited with baited breath for him to disagree. Surprisingly, he nodded, “Okay. If you can promise me you’re okay, that you’re safe with Cage, I won’t tell anyone else.”

She was a lawyer, so the lie slipped from her lips with ease, “Cage is fine, I’m fine, it was just an argument that got out of hand, he didn’t mean to hurt me. Your overprotective streak is _cute_ , Blake.”

He glared at the ceiling, “My overprotective streak kept my sister alive, it’s gotten Raven through some shit, and if Cage Wallace ever touches you without your permission again, it’s going to get him killed.”

“Well, that’s… surprisingly noble of you,” she commented, and he shrugged but didn’t reply. 

They rode the elevator to the ground floor in silence, and he walked her to her car, not getting in his own until he’d seen her drive away. She watched him in her rear view, carrying himself like a man with a job to do, and she worried that maybe she’d told the wrong person. Then she remembered the way he’d brushed his fingertips against her palm while he was calming her down, and the way he’d pried her nails from her leg at dinner, while pretending not to notice her existence. 

Bellamy Blake’s big secret was that he _cared_. And it made her feel a little bit safer as she walked up to her apartment and fell asleep within seconds of hitting the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Urgh, that was difficult to write, I am incredibly exhausted now, I need a lie down, or a holiday, or a canon Bellarke sex scene.
> 
> I hope you... well, maybe _liked it_ isn't the right wording, but I hope you're still invested in this story!  
>  Thank you for all the comments and kudos, I really appreciate it all!
> 
> Also, I've been asked how regular my update schedule is, and it's probably going to end up being around every five days, as I've got to edit the chapters properly before I post them, and there's no betas here, just me.


	5. Downtown Hospitality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke tries to relax, and bumps into an old friend.  
> Cage visits The Dead Zone.

The rest of the week felt odd, disjointed somehow, and her pocket universe just kept shrinking until it only included herself and Cage, all her time spent working or sleeping or talking to him. 

Nothing like what had happened on Sunday occurred again, and on the one occasion she’d garnered the courage to bring it up, he had acted like he didn’t know what she was talking about, until she felt guilty for even asking. 

When Clarke put her foot down and finally managed to leave the office before dusk to visit Octavia’s on Wednesday night, Bellamy was there, curled up in his armchair and reading another second-hand book: Anna Karenina this time. When she was practically bowled over by Octavia and Raven, she almost missed the worried look he shot at her, but for the rest of the evening, it was like nothing had changed. 

Bellamy still didn’t like her; telling him her story hadn’t changed that, and she hadn’t expected it to. She knew about his childhood too, from his sister, and it hadn’t warmed her up to him either. She actually liked how normal everything was – Octavia bitching about something, Raven talking about something they didn’t understand and filling them in on her Tinder matches, and Bellamy grumbling quietly from the corner, rolling his eyes and huffing at everything Clarke said. 

All that changed was that she occasionally caught him glancing at her wrist, covered by the oversized sweater she was wearing.

“It’s been forever, Griffin,” Octavia said quietly, about halfway through their ritual monthly re-watching of _The Breakfast Club_ , “you look tired, and you never seem to leave your office. What’s been going on at work?”

“Dante Wallace requested me on a case,” Clarke admitted, biting her lip. 

“I suppose that’s a benefit of dating Cage – you get more cases, more money, more clout – the only downside to your relationship is that you never see us anymore,” she scowled.

Clarke didn’t miss the subtle way Bellamy opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, and then snapped it shut and fidgeted slightly in his seat. He was still pretending to read, but he was clearly eavesdropping now, and Clarke resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him. 

“Yeah, and the fact that you’re not _getting any_ ,” Raven threw a chip at them.

“Not true, she’s still seeing Lexa!” Octavia reminded her. 

Actually, Clarke hadn’t seen Lexa for almost a week, and she desperately wanted to, but she literally didn’t have the time. She sighed and tried to relax into the couch, listening to her friends bickering about her love life. 

“You’re not falling asleep are you Griffin?” Raven asked, curling into her side and resting her head on Clarke’s shoulder. Apparently, if she was sleeping, Raven wanted to join in. 

“Maybe,” she breathed, her eyes fluttering shut to the dulcet tones of John Bender telling a joke while he crawled through the ceiling. She felt Octavia settle in on her left, and she wished that this was how it was all the time – her best friends in the whole world, curled up on the couch watching movies and falling asleep together. She’d never had that growing up, just Wells, and it was so nice, so comforting to have friends who supported her. Raven’s breathing was slowing down, and O’s had evened out completely – damn girl could fall asleep anywhere – but Clarke’s mind was still whirring even as she felt herself sinking into unconsciousness. She just alert enough to register Bellamy draping a blanket over the three of them before she disappeared completely into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

* * *

Cage dropped in for lunch on Thursday, and he was grinning from ear to ear as he swaggered into her office, closing the door behind him. 

“Hey baby,” he drew up a chair right next to her and she tried her very best to not flinch when he reached for her sore arm. 

“Hey,” she murmured, smiling, “what are you so happy about?”

“My father wanted me to tell you what a fantastic job you’re doing with this case,” he said, leaning closer, “and I wanted to tell you how excited I am about going out with you tomorrow night.”

There seemed to be an unspoken promise in those words, one that made her shiver, and he pressed a kiss to her shoulder and rolled his chair back. He still didn’t let go of her arm though, holding her as he ate, bumping their knees together under the desk while they talked about music and movies. She breathed more easily. This was nice – this was something she was comfortable with. 

When he left, it was with a smile, and she returned it genuinely. Maybe it really was a one-time thing, that outburst, and he would never do it again. He was being sweet and attentive, buying her lunch, and being affectionate in a way that wasn’t sexual. This was how relationships were supposed to be, wasn’t it? She didn’t have much experience in that arena, but she decided that she liked it, and her pocket universe didn’t seem so dark and gloomy after that, even if she didn’t glimpse the sun that day.

* * *

* * *

On Friday, he didn’t come into the office, but he did send flowers.

Despite having mentioned to him more than once that she was allergic to roses, he continued to send them. He insisted that she was just being modest, that she didn’t need to be, and she wondered how confessing to an allergy made her modest, but gave up trying to work it out.

The massive bouquet of roses was taking up half her desk and she sighed heavily, trying to work out where on Earth she was going to put them.

_“Clarke, I have a meeting with my father all day today, out of town._  
_I will still meet you at The Dead Zone this evening, but I may be a little late._  
_Can’t wait to see you.”_

One of the paralegals was peering through her window, gazing adoringly at the flowers, so Clarke carried them over to her desk and offered them to her, promising that she had more than enough roses to go around.

Clarke sat at her desk, picking at her salad, feeling more than a little alone. She had gotten used to Cage's daily visits, and without him there, she felt a little isolated. Until she realised that in the absence of Cage, she could actually see the person she wanted to spend time with for lunch more than anyone. She grabbed her wallet and headed down to their favourite burger joint to pick up a peace offering. Then she went hunting for Octavia, aiming to reclaim her lunch buddy. Octavia wasn't at her desk, or even on their floor, so Clarke went to the only place she was bound to find her - the roof. There was a garden up there that almost no-one used, where Octavia frequently went to be alone, and when they'd become friends, she'd allowed Clarke to use it to. So she traipsed up the last set of stairs and swung open the door, breathing in the fresh air and the view of the city.

“No, Bell,” Octavia was sitting on a garden bench, phone pressed to her ear with a frown on her face, but she waved excitedly when she saw her, “you cannot just abandon us tonight. You have to be there.”

Clarke shuffled in beside her and she put the phone on speaker.

“I don’t have to do anything, O, and besides, I have a date.” That was rare – he tended to just pick girls up, not date them. Perhaps it had something to do with why he was uptown on Sunday night. 

“If you’re going out with that Echo girl from last week–”

“So what if I am?” He sounded indignant, so no change there.

“Bellamy Blake do not abandon _your only family_ to get laid,” Octavia scolded, using her trump card - the one thing she knew he couldn't refuse. He sighed, a low noise down the line that went on long enough to suitably convey his frustration, before he said,

“I hate you. I’m bringing Echo.”

“You sure the uptown girl will be able to handle the downtown vibe?” 

Bellamy groaned, “If Clarke can bring her uptown boyfriend, I’m bringing my uptown girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend, huh?” Octavia asked sceptically, and Clarke couldn’t wipe the surprise off her face. Bellamy Blake with a girlfriend just wasn’t a thing she ever expected to see. 

“Sort of. Maybe,” he grumbled, “fuck you.”

“Promise to dance with Clarke tonight,” Octavia said suddenly, completely out of nowhere, and Clarke had a feeling her look of confusion was mirrored by the elder Blake, wherever he was.

“What?! _Why?”_

“Yeah, O, why?” Clarke said, cracking her knuckles in a fake show of irritation, but Octavia just raised a finger and addressed them both.

“Because Cage is going to be there, and Clarke will want a break from him so she can spend time with her _friends_ at some point.” The emphasis on the word made Clarke feel a little shamefaced, which she was sure was Octavia's intention. 

“What on earth does that have to do with me?” She could practically see him rolling his eyes.

“Cage could drag her away from me or Raven, but you’re a big strong guy, Bell, and he’s not stupid. If you’re around, you can stop him from taking her away from us so they can go make out. I need to spend time with my best friend tonight, I miss her.”

Clarke supressed a wince. She still felt guilty about not telling her friends about what had happened after they left her apartment, or any of the times since. She told herself she didn’t want to worry them, but the truth was that she was trying not to worry herself. She tried to convince herself that Cage thought she was a willing and enthusiastic participant in this relationship, but she knew he was at least aware of the deal their parents had made, which meant he was deliberately choosing to take ownership of her. It was more than a little suffocating.

“You don’t have to, Lincoln will be there, and Murphy usually has a switchblade on him,” Clarke joked, fiddling with the bracelets that hid the marks Cage’s fingers had left, faded now, but still there under her sleeve. 

“If dancing with me will help, I will dance with the Princess,” he said calmly, “but if it gets in the way of me going home with Echo, I am going to be incredibly bitter.”

“Like you’re not already?” Octavia said, hanging up. She rolled her eyes, “He’s a good guy really.”

“I know,” Clarke said, she’d always known, but the way he'd comforted her on Sunday had just proved it. She felt herself growing to like Bellamy's almost self-sacrificing aim to make everyone happy, and she pushed the emotion away, covering it with a reminder that they weren't even friends. He just happened to be in the right place in the moment when she was vulnerable. It didn't change things. Did it? She shook her head, “he’s just an asshole.”

“Don’t have to tell me, I’ve known that asshole all my life,” Octavia grinned, “Anyway, what are you doing here, I thought Wallace was stealing all our lunches these days?”

Clarke handed her a burger, “Not today. Today is all about you and me.”

“Excellent, because I have some truly horrific gossip that I’ve been dying to share with you for like, two weeks.” She said, tucking into the burger and relaxing back on the bench.

Clarke had an idea, “Hey, do you wanna come to my place and get ready tonight?”

Octavia gave her a look, “Is that even a question? I would love that. Raven too, right?”

“Obviously.”

“Yeah! It’s a girl’s night; forget that your boyfriend is going to be there, we’ll just listen to bad music and pick each other’s outfits and you can tell us all about Lexa.”

“I’ve missed this,” Clarke admitted, leaning her head against her friend’s shoulder and staring out across the garden and over the railing, imagining that all was right in the world.

“Me too. But don’t tell anybody, no-one needs to know I’ve gone soft.” Octavia elbowed her, and they laughed as they watched the city below.

* * *

* * *

“Clarke, c’mon, have a drink, you deserve it,” Raven grumbled, trying to hand her a beer.

“No, Ray, I’ve decided to be as sober as possible tonight in case Nia calls me in tomorrow, and that means no pre-drinks. Besides, if we all get drunk in my apartment, we’re never gonna make it to The Dead Zone. One of us has to be sober enough to get the others into the cab.” Clarke was already dressed and lounging on her bedroom floor, waiting for Raven to finish applying her eyeliner. Octavia was sprawled across her bed, intermittently trying on all of Clarke’s shoes and texting Lincoln.

“Lincoln’s working at the door tonight, so I’m not going to see him,” she pouted, and Raven sniggered.

“Oh no, poor Octavia won’t get to grind up against her hot Adonis-like boyfriend all night!”

“Hey, if that makes me Aphrodite, I’m totally cool with that comparison,” Octavia said, and they both looked at her, surprised. She shrugged, “My brother was really into that shit, growing up. He basically memorised every history book in the library. You pick it up, when you’ve heard it often enough.”

“Your brother’s a nerd, and you _never told me?”_ Raven asked, clutching imaginary pearls at her neck, “I can’t believe this! _Ten years of friendship_ , and I didn’t know Bellamy was a dork?”

“I figured you noticed – he’s not exactly shy about it.”

“Now that you mention it, he did insist I wear historically accurate robes and call him Zeus in bed,” Raven said sarcastically and Octavia threw a sneaker at her.

“Don’t even joke about that!”

“Alright, alright! I dunno, I guess I just never paid much attention,” Raven stepped away from the mirror to admire her handywork, “too busy staring at his biceps. And his abs. And his-”

“I will throw combat boots next,” Octavia threatened.

“No, I just mean Bellamy and I… I don’t know, we’re not those kind of friends, y’know? We love each other, but we don’t ever really talk.” She finished off her beer, “Not about stuff like that, anyway.”

She yanked Clarke to her feet and Octavia shuffled to the end of the mattress and stood up. The three of them stared at each other in the mirror, nodding appreciatively.

Octavia was in a short, tight, black dress and boots, her hair pulled up on her head and her make-up dark and smoky. Raven was in a low-cut red blouse and dark leggings, a bomber jacket draped over her shoulders and a flirtatious smirk already on her face. Clarke was wearing a bottle green dress with a loose neckline and spaghetti straps criss-crossing down her back, her hair’s standard messy curls tamed enough to sway around her face in waves.

“God, we’re gorgeous,” Raven grinned, and they linked arms and headed down to the lobby.

* * *

* * *

The club was loud, and busy even for a Friday, and Clarke was feeling a little more high-strung than usual, which was saying something. Raven and Octavia were glued to her sides, and she could see Monty and Jasper hanging out at a table with Murphy, Emori and Bellamy, who had his arms wrapped around someone she didn’t know. Echo, she guessed.

“We’re back bitches!” Octavia screamed over the music, and everyone cheered in response, even Bellamy. She flopped down into a seat beside her brother who smiled at her and whispered something in her ear that made her frown, before saying in an unenthusiastic monotone, “Oh, hi Echo. Nice of you to join us.”

Echo looked like she was going to answer her, but Monty and Jasper were way too excited about seeing their long-lost blonde bombshell.

“Clarkey, it’s been forever since you’ve been out with us!” Jasper moaned dramatically.

“I can’t believe you abandoned us like that!” Monty agreed, pouring a rum and coke.

“I mean… it’s been a month, and you still saw me last week, but I take your point,” she laughed as she sat down beside him, stretching her arm over his shoulders and tugging him into her side.

He snuggled in and grumbled, “It’s been five weeks, Clarkey.”

“I will try and get down here more often Jasper, just for you,” she said, trying to appease him, and it seemed to work. He handed her a drink and she knocked it to his, downing it in one.

“Thought you weren’t drinking tonight?” Raven asked, sitting between Octavia and Emori.

“No, I said I wanted to be as sober as possible – a little Dutch courage never hurt anyone,” Clarke felt the rum warm her throat as she spoke, and she closed her eyes for a moment, relishing the sensation. She sat that way for a moment, just listening to the noise of her friends talking as it blended with the music, vibrating through her chest, creating a blanket of sound around her – she’d really missed this.

When she opened them, Bellamy was frowning at her, and she quirked an eyebrow at him. His frown deepened and he opened his mouth to say something, but Echo turned in his arms and started murmuring things in his ear and his gaze shifted to her. She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the dancefloor, and he didn’t glance back.

“So Clarke, how’s your boyfriend?” Murphy asked.

“He’s… around a lot,” she said, trying to think of something casual to say and coming up empty.

Murphy tilted his head in her direction, “Not your dream guy then, Griffin?”

She giggled at his bravado, and the way he gestured knowingly at himself and Emori smacked his arm. 

Everyone had started to loosen up a little, laughing and talking, but Clarke couldn’t relax. So when Raven started hitting on a nice girl called Gina and vanished into the crowd, Octavia grabbed Clarke and dragged her out into the throngs of people.

“You have to be my boyfriend tonight,” Octavia said loudly over the thumping bass, “mine is still at the door.”

“I’ve been telling you for months that I’m boyfriend material,” Clarke joked.

“My very own Superman,” Octavia leaned against her.

“Clarke Kent to the rescue,” she called back, and Octavia laughed and swayed her hips in time with the music. Clarke knew what she was really doing: trying to distract her from her desire to be back in the office, finishing another case. It was working, for the most part. She felt herself loosening up slightly, joining Octavia in her dancing. Jasper and Monty were still in the corner and Monty was chatting up a handsome guy who had taken up Clarke’s vacant seat, while Jasper stared at the ceiling, high out of his mind. Murphy and Emori had taken to grinding on each other, seemingly oblivious to the world around them. For twenty minutes, the night carried on like any other, with Clarke surrounded by the people she loved most in the world.

It shouldn’t have surprised her when arms smelling of a familiar cologne snaked around her waist but somehow, she still jumped at the contact.

“Hey,” Cage said, hot breath against her ear, already smelling faintly of scotch.

She let him pull her closer, but she’d practically stopped dancing at that point, and Octavia was giving her a frustrated look, probably so she didn’t have to direct it at Cage.

“Want to get a drink?” Cage asked, not even waiting for her reply before he tugged her off the dancefloor and away to the bar. When they reached it, Bellamy and Echo were leaning against it, kissing, and Clarke rolled her eyes.

“Two scotches,” Cage said to the bartender and then clapped Bellamy on the shoulder, “evening, Mr Blake."

Bellamy broke from Echo’s embrace and threw an arm around her, facing them with a neutral expression.

“Wallace. Busy day?”

“Very.” He didn’t elaborate.

“Hey Princess,” Bellamy said, glancing between her and Cage, “how’s your night going?”

“Pretty good,” Clarke said, and Cage’s hand moved a little higher on her ribs, brushing the underside of her breast. She pressed her lips together, wishing she’d worn a dress that allowed her to wear a bra, and tried to ignore it.

“How are you enjoying the downtown hospitality, Mr Wallace?” Bellamy asked, eyes flitting back to him.

“I don’t know why I don’t come down here more often! The scotch is cheaper, but it gets you just as drunk, and there are women everywhere. Clubs uptown have a certain level of clothing that you have to be wearing before entering, but I see that The Dead Zone doesn’t have this problem.”

“No shoes, no shirt, you still get service, WHAT?” Jasper’s voice sailed over from a few feet down the bar where he had clearly been eavesdropping, enthusiastic as ever, “Girl look at that body, girl look at that body, girl look at that body, I, I, I, I work out!”

 _“No you don’t, Jasper!”_ Clarke yelled, at the same time as Bellamy called out,

_“In what universe?”_

Jasper stuck his tongue out at them and darted away, bottle in hand. Bellamy threw his eyes to the heavens, “Honestly, if I have to roll him into a cab again, I’m going to just let him collapse on the sidewalk.”

“No you’re not,” Clarke said, tentatively sipping the drink the barman had handed her, “It’s actually impossible for you to not help people. Even if you wanted to leave him high and dry, you couldn’t – you’d feel too guilty.”

“That is not true, I can be unhelpful!” He protested, making Echo giggle, “I’m a dick to you all the time.”

“Yeah, to me, but not to your friends, who you love and care for,” she pointed out, and he crossed his arms, defeated.

“You’re really killing my bad-boy vibe here, Princess,” he complained, the nickname coming out particularly scathingly.

“That’s not my problem, Bellamy, it’s yours,” she grinned.

 _“Fuck you,”_ he grumbled and she laughed, finishing off her drink. She could feel Cage watching her, and his hand on her breast, and she tried not to think about it too much.

“I’m sorry what vibe were you going for exactly? Bad-boy? Because it’s coming out a lot more like a petulant child.”

He looked pained, “Why do I put up with you?”

“Because I’m pretty?” she teased.

“I think it’s more to do with you being my sister’s best friend, but sure, yeah, because you’re pretty.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Echo asked, her tone light and an amused expression on her face.

Clarke winked at Echo, “You’re gorgeous, and if I didn’t have a boyfriend, and if Bellamy wasn’t trying to get in your pants, I would absolutely be hitting on you right now.”

Cage’s hand tightened against her, pulling her a little closer to his side.

It was hard to tell in the changing lights of the club, but Echo looked like she was blushing, “Thanks. And it’s nice to know that Bellamy’s trying to get in my pants. I wasn’t sure if he was just being nice or not.”

Bellamy groaned loudly and buried his face in the back of her shoulder, making her giggle.

“Please leave us alone,” he mumbled at Clarke.

“Why, so you can go back to making out again?” She asked archly.

“Yes! _Obviously!_ Fuck off Princess!” He growled, eyes up again, genuinely irritated, and her good humour vanished.

“Fine,” she stepped away from the bar, aiming to pull Wallace with her, but he stayed where he was, fronting at the older Blake, “Cage?”

“Don’t speak to her that way,” Cage said menacingly, and Bellamy’s expression morphed from the irritated expression he usually wore around Clarke into something truly furious. Clarke stepped in between the two of them and faced Wallace.

“I don’t mind, Cage, it’s just how we talk to each other,” she explained, a hand on his arm. Anything to avoid starting a fight – there was no reason for this to escalate.

He cast his eye on her instead, “Ah. I understand.”

He appeared to let it go, and this time when she moved towards the dancefloor, he followed. She knew that Bellamy was watching them angrily, but she didn’t care. Cage tugged her arm so that she was facing him, and she put her arms on his shoulders, resting her cheek against his chest so that he couldn’t see her face. She was flashing back to Sunday night, the flare of anger in his eyes shining through in the same way he’d looked at Bellamy. She wanted to get out of there, but she’d promised her friends she would stay the whole night. She couldn’t leave, couldn’t push him away – she didn’t have an out.

Raven and Gina danced into view, “Babe, you vanished!”

Clarke turned to face her, laughing, “You vanished _first!”_

Cage’s hands gripped her hips.

“True, but Gina, ah, needed some air,” Raven said sheepishly.

“You mean she wanted to make out in the alley?” Clarke asked pointedly and Gina blushed.

“No, I really did need some air – the smoke machines in here get really intense – but then, yeah, there was some making out,” she said, fingers interlacing with Raven while they swayed.

“God, I’m so proud,” Clarke pretended to wipe away a tear, “You’re really holding the bisexual crown high, aren’t you Reyes?”

“I do it all for you, my liege,” Raven teased, “seeing as you’re currently taken, I have to double my game to make up for your sudden lack of it.”

“How dare you,” Clarke feigned annoyance, “you have _always_ had more game than me.”

“True,” Raven grinned and kissed Clarke’s cheek, dancing with Gina towards the bar.

Cage took that opportunity to dig his hips into Clarke’s backside, wrapping his arms around her middle to keep her there. She swallowed her discomfort and continued to dance with him for another few songs. Jasper came up to yell the lyrics of Mr Brightside with her, and Monty danced through to ask for her advice about hitting on a cute guy by the door. Octavia texted her to tell her that she was standing outside with Lincoln, but that his shift at the door would be ending in an hour or two, and then they would both come back inside. She obviously knew that Cage would be able to read in over her shoulder, and had written it as casually as possible, but the subtext of that was clear – _don’t spend all your time with your boyfriend, we want to see you too._ Clarke sighed. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and she hated it beyond words.

Cage’s hands were starting to wander a little too much for her liking, and she pushed off him, saying, “I just need to use the restroom.”

She left him there, weaving through the crowd until she reached the line for the toilets.

But of course, because her luck couldn’t possibly get any worse, she bumped into Niylah in the line. Niylah had been her high school girlfriend, and their relationship had lasted the entire last year of school, until she moved away for college and law school – when they’d broken up. At least it had been mostly amicable and considering how Niylah’s face lit up when she noticed her, she hadn’t held a grudge. Clarke freaked out for a quarter of a second before she let her face fall into a friendly smile.

 _“Clarke?_ Oh my god, what are the odds?! How are you?” Niylah asked, hugging her immediately.

“I’m great, how are you?” Clarke glanced over her shoulder, but there was no sight of Wallace, so she breathed a little easier.

“I’m fantastic, now that I know you’re back in town! What’s it been, five years?”

“Six,” Clarke admitted, “Law school.”

“Right! Wow, you must have breezed through, I remember how crazy smart you are,” Niylah was beaming at her, and the line moved up a little.

“Yeah, and you were gearing up to be an archaeologist, right?”

“I can’t believe you remember that!”

“Well, you’re hard to forget,” Clarke said, feeling some of Niylah’s positive energy rubbing off on her.

“Yeah I'm a qualified archaeologist, just got back from a dig in Tondisi actually. What are you up to now?”

“I’m living back in Polis, uptown. I work at my dad’s old firm, Kingsley-Griffin-Jaha,” she said, “trying to live up to my dad’s legacy.”

“Oh I’m sure he’d be proud of you,” she smiled, and they ended up a little closer to each other when the line shortened again, “I heard about his death, I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks,” Clarke appreciated it, especially when she knew how genuine the sentiment was coming from Niylah – she’d always got on well with Clarke’s father, “It was six years ago, but it still sucks.”

“Wow, that year must have been really hard for you... We broke up, and then you moved away for college, then Wells had that accident, and then your dad died. I can’t imagine what that must have been like,” she said sympathetically.

“I’m sure that’s not true, I heard about your dad’s passing too,” Clarke said, resting a hand on her arm.

Niylah smiled sadly back at her, “He had cancer for a long time. It was hard, but it wasn’t unexpected, not like Jake.”

They finally reached the front of the line, and Niylah went first, leaving Clarke a minute alone, tapping her foot along to the music and wondering how on earth the night had ended up so bizarre. When Niylah reappeared, she promised to wait for her, and she was true to her word. She leaned against the wall lazily and was still there when Clarke emerged.

“Anyway,” Clarke desperately wanted to leave the previous topic behind, “what are you up to tonight?”

“I’m here with my girlfriend,” Niylah said, pointing over Clarke’s left shoulder. She turned to look, finding a girl with cropped, dyed-blonde hair, and a septum piercing, waving shyly at them from her seat.

“She’s cute,” Clarke noted.

“Yeah, she’s gorgeous,” she gushed, “Gaia – she’s been really amazing these last couple of years.”

“Couple of years? Wow, that’s amazing!” Clarke said emotionally, “God, Niylah, I’m just so happy for you, I’m so glad that everything worked out.”

“What about you, Griffin, you got a new girlfriend? Or boyfriend?”

“Yeah, I’m actually… it’s complicated,” Clarke stuttered.

“Isn’t it always?” Niylah sensed the awkwardness descending on the conversation and curled a hand around her elbow, “Dance with me, for old times’ sake?”

Clarke had never been so inclined to dance in her life, and she told her ex-girlfriend so, who only laughed adoringly, and they were halfway to the dancefloor when someone gripped her wrist. She knew who it was before she turned her head.

“Where have you been?” Cage asked, his fingers digging into her forearm.

“Sorry, I bumped into a friend in the line for the restroom,” Clarke explained over the music, “Cage, this is Niylah, Niylah, this is Cage Wallace.”

The other woman stuck a hand out for him to shake, but he just yanked Clarke away from her, “I need to steal my girlfriend for a moment.”

Clarke shot Niylah an apologetic look, but Wallace had already torn her from her grip, hauling her away, so she wasn’t sure if the woman had seen it.

It wasn’t until they reached the back door and stepped into the alley behind the club where people smoked, that Clarke had any inkling of danger. They had been surrounded by people, she was protected by the wall of half-drunk men and women, until suddenly she wasn’t:

_The alley was empty._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I APOLOGISE FOR THE CLIFFHANGER
> 
> It gets a lot worse before it gets better, so gear up for some serious angst in the next chapter. 
> 
> I'm also sorry in advance for how dark the next chapter gets, and I'm adding a trigger warning here, because chapter 6 is where the "Attempted Sexual Assault" tag becomes most relevant. It's only the first little bit of the chapter and it's not graphic, but I thought I would put a warning in here anyway. 
> 
> Thank you for reading this story, I really appreciate you, and all the kudos and comments are making my day. <3


	6. You Lost, Princess?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cage Wallace shows his true colours, and Bellamy reveals his.

Clarke barely had a moment to register what was about to happen before it did. 

Cage spun around and backhanded her, his large ring cutting her cheek, and it surprised her enough for him to move towards her again, forcing her even further into the alley.

Cage threw her up against a wall, his forearm pressing into her throat, making it hard to breathe as he leaned all his weight on her. Her head cracked back against the bricks and it started pounding, the pain ricocheting into her eyes, blurring her vision. She could feel the wall at her back, scraping her shoulders again. His breath was fanning over her face, scotch and something else, and his mouth was close to hers. 

_“Whore,”_ he hissed. The alley was static, and the only sound other than Cage was the faint music from inside, barely audible through the thick walls.

“What… are you… talking about?” She wheezed, hands scrabbling at his arm. 

“You think I haven’t noticed you flirting with everything that moves? Flaunting it, _in front of me?!_ ” His tone was harsher, and he was pressing her even harder into the wall.

“I’m… not,” she managed.

“You know what your problem is, Clarke? You think you can have whatever you want,” he barked, running his free hand over her face, yanking her hair aggressively in the process, “You think you can walk all over me while you _fuck_ everyone else.”

She tried to shake her head, no longer able to get the words out. 

“You embarrassed me tonight,” his whole body was tightly against hers now, trapping her completely. 

She was losing air, and her eyes started darting around manically, looking for something, anything to get her out of this. 

_“You’re nothing,”_ he trailed his hand down over her chest, grabbing her breast painfully, “I think you need to be taught a lesson.”

Clarke dimly noticed a few whiskey bottles lying on the lid of the dumpster beside them. If she could just reach one… her arm started moving but she realised quickly that she was too far away. Cage had already managed to undo his belt, and was pulling at his fly, panting in her ear. She knew how this story ended, she’d heard it a hundred times. 

“I’m… not… flirting,” she tried again, and he laughed, a harsh, bitter sound that felt amplified by the lack of sound in the dark alley. 

“Do you think I’m stupid?” He scoffed, hiking her dress up past her hips. 

“No,” she said, “please…”

“Once I’m done with you Clarke, maybe you’ll finally get it through your head that you’re _mine_. No-one else’s – _MINE_.”

“Please, don't...” she begged again, her hands pushing weakly at his chest. She felt unconsciousness beckoning and for just a second she considered letting it pull her under; then maybe he would leave her alone. But a worse thought occurred to her – what if he didn’t?

She made up her mind.

She closed her eyes and let herself go limp. He didn’t stop. In fact, he forged ahead more aggressively. He shifted slightly and she felt him against her bare thigh, making her heart jump in panic. 

Then he stepped back a little, so that he could pull her panties down. 

Which was what she’d been waiting her. 

Her eyes flew open and she shoved him, hard. He stumbled backwards, but didn’t fall, and she darted right, grabbing the nearest bottle and spinning around, slamming it into his head.

He dropped to the floor, and she turned to run away, but his hand snaked out and caught her ankle, tripping her. She hit the ground, skinning her knees. He yanked at her shoulder, ripping the strap off it, and Clarke kicked out at him, catching him in the shoulder. He fell back. She stumbled to her feet and sprinted to the door, wrenching it open and running into the crowd.

She pushed her way through the people, disorientated. 

  
  
  


Her head was spinning. 

  
  
  


She checked her phone, seeing a text from Raven telling her she'd gone home.

  
  
  


She needed to get out of there. 

  
  
  


Her friends were nowhere to be seen - maybe they thought she'd bailed. 

  
  
  


She could feel the jostle of the people around her, like walking through quicksand.

  
  
  


She needed to get out of there.

  
  
  


Her lungs were aching and her throat hurt everytime her pulse pounded through it. 

  
  
  


Where was the bag-check? She’d been there a thousand times, where was it?

  
  
  


Her knees were stinging and her cheek felt hot. 

  
  
  


She felt numb.

  
  
  


She needed to get out of there.

  
  
  


She wasn’t looking where she was going, she just needed to move. So of course she walked full-force right into the back of the one other person in there that she didn’t want to see.

Bellamy turned around, arm looped around Echo’s waist, annoyance on his face, “You lost, Princess?” 

She opened her mouth to retort, but before she could, his eyes raked over her and his expression changed. He frowned, letting go of Echo so he could step closer to her, and his fingers drifted over the broken strap of her dress that was dangling by her elbow. His eyes made their way down to her knees and back up to her face, where the realisation dawned and his eyes widened. 

She nearly broke down right there. Because Bellamy Blake didn’t like her, he might even hate her – but he would never, _never_ do something like this to her. 

Something hardened behind his eyes and he started glancing around over her head, “Where is he?”

“I’m fine,” she muttered. 

“ _Where the fuck is he?_ ” His hands were fists at his sides, and he shifted his weight forward.

“I don’t know, I hit him. I just need to get out of here. Please, Bellamy, leave it, I’m fine,” she pleaded with him, putting a hand on his chest to stop him charging into the crowd. 

His gaze dropped to her hand at his chest and he stopped, looking at her with a pained expression. “You can’t let him get away with it,” he said gruffly, and she shook her head frantically. 

“I’m fine, Bellamy, I just want to go home,” she said, and he looked like he was going to protest, but thought better of it. 

“Okay,” he said, pulling his keys from his pocket, “let’s go.”

She blinked.

“No, I can… I can get a cab,” she tried. 

“Not a chance,” he turned to face Echo, “Sorry, I have to go.”

Echo looked determined, “No, I agree, Blake, get her out of here. Anya’s around here somewhere, she’ll take me home.”

“Don’t ruin your night, Bellamy,” Clarke protested again, but he just shook his head and offered her his elbow. She hesitated for barely a second before she grabbed it and he started moving them through the throngs of people until they ended up at the bag check. 

Murphy and Emori were already waiting in line, tongues down each other’s throats, clearly ready to leave. Someone bumped into Clarke and she flinched, stepping closer to Bellamy, who glanced down at her, worry all over his face. She tried to tell him she was okay, but all she could manage was a shake of her head. He put his hand over hers in the crook of his arm and she closed her eyes for a moment, trying to anchor herself back to reality. It felt too much like she was drowning in an endless ocean of unpleasant sensations.

The lovebirds seemed to notice their friends, and when they broke apart for air, Murphy glanced over, “You and the Princess, huh?”

“No,” Bellamy said coldly, not in the mood. 

Murphy threw his hands up in surrender, but couldn’t help himself getting in one more teasing remark, “Alright Blake, no need to get defensive, I just thought that Princess had a boyfr–”

“Leave it alone, Murphy,” Bellamy said, and there was a dangerous note in his voice that Clarke had rarely heard. 

By this point, Emori had noticed the marks on Clarke’s neck and the state of her hair and her dress, and she smacked Murphy in the chest, “Babe, shut up. You alright, Griffin?”

She nodded silently, and Murphy caught on quickly, looking over at Bellamy for confirmation, who only tightened his hand over hers. 

“Sorry, Clarke, I didn’t mean anything by it,” he backpedalled immediately. 

“I know, Murphy,” she attempted a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. 

Bellamy went up to the lady manning the desk and asked about Clarke’s bag, while Murphy and Emori hovered by her side, pretending they weren’t doing it for her benefit. Murphy was joking around, trying to make her laugh, but she couldn't find anything funny. She could find any emotion at all. Everything was too hot, too suffocating, and she was numb.

Suddenly she glimpsed a familiar figure in the crowd, and her blood pounded in her ears. She shrunk into herself, and Bellamy spun around, bag in hand, mouth open to say something to her, when he saw him as well. Cage had blood on his face where the bottle had hit him, and there was demented rage spewing out of his pores. He reached for Clarke’s arm and she recoiled, which only made him angrier, “I’ve been looking for you.”

Bellamy stepped in front of her. 

“Step aside, Blake,” Wallace said.

“No.” 

“This isn’t your business, Blake,” he snapped, “this is between _me_ and _my girlfriend_.”

“I think it’s safe to say she’s not your girlfriend anymore,” Bellamy crossed his arms. 

“I suggest you leave,” Murphy said, moving to his friend’s side, completely obscuring Clarke from Cage’s view. 

“Not without my girlfriend,” Wallace reiterated. 

“She doesn’t want to go anywhere with you,” Bellamy growled, leaning forward. 

She grabbed his arm, “Bellamy, forget it, I’m fine.”

“You’re _not_ going home with him,” he said, glancing across at her. With the way his hands were flexing, it was clear he was trying as hard as possible to keep a cool head and not throw a punch, but it was also clear that he was failing. 

“Bellamy, please, just leave it,” she tried think of a way to communicate that this was more about keeping him out of Dante Wallace’s sights than anything else, but she was coming up empty. 

She was out from behind him enough now, however, for Cage to reach her. He snatched at her, gripping her arm, which made her cry out in pain. Bellamy didn’t wait, he didn’t think, he just punched Cage in the face as hard as he could, knocking him to the floor. 

“Bellamy!” Clarke yelled, surprised, and he gently nudged her behind him again. Emori put a hand on her shoulder, reassuring, but she was panicked for a whole new reason now.

 _“Don’t fucking touch her, Wallace.”_ His voice was steady, low, and yet it was still perfectly clear over the music.

“That was a mistake,” Cage grinned, spitting out a mouthful of blood, “I can make your life a _living hell_.”

“Yeah? What else is new?” Bellamy said sarcastically. 

“You’re ruined, Blake.”

“I’ll take that. But you’re not touching her.”

Clarke knew that there was almost no way this situation wasn’t going to escalate to something more dangerous, and she started tugging at Bellamy’s arm. Once he registered that she was trying to get out of there, he let her pull him away, and her last view of Cage was through the backs of Murphy and Emori, who were standing over him.

They passed the door, where she had expected to see Lincoln or Octavia, but Nyko was there instead, which meant her friends were probably inside. Bellamy was in front of her now, leading her to his car, a familiar worn down pickup truck with paint peeling off the sides, and she let go of him to walk over to the passenger side. He jumped into his seat and turned the engine over, throwing it into reverse and flooring it out of the carpark. 

They sat like that for a few minutes, Bellamy fuming silently, and Clarke wringing her hands, trying to process what had happened. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she heard herself say, and her voice was a lot steadier than she expected it to be. 

His eyes never left the road, “he deserved it.”

“Yeah, he did, but I don’t want him to come after you too,” she muttered. 

“Let him come, my life can’t get much worse anyway,” his tone was light, but the scowl was still on his face, and his knuckles were almost white on the steering wheel.

“You don’t know the Wallaces, Bellamy, they can do whatever they want.”

“Not to you they can’t,” he growled. 

She was taken aback, “You don’t even like me!” 

“ _That’s irrelevant_ ,” Bellamy mirrored her own words from so many weeks ago, and god, it felt like eons had come and gone since then. He stared over at her, shocked, “I mean it; it doesn’t matter who you are, whether I like you or not, _no-one_ deserves to be treated that way. _No-one_.”

They turned onto a familiar street, and she noticed that they had crossed into the part of Polis considered ‘uptown’. A realisation struck her and she tried to say something, but it was suddenly hard to breathe, so she reached across and smacked him lightly across the chest to get his attention. He glanced across at her and quickly pulled over to the side of the road, underneath a streetlight.

“Clarke?” He asked, and it was the first time she’d ever heard him use her actual name. 

She was practically hyperventilating, and her hands gripped her hair as she bent almost in half, staring down at her feet in the footwell and trying to calm down. 

“Clarke?” He asked again uneasily, “are you okay?”

She covered her face with her hands and tried to remember how to inhale normally, and he leaned closer.

“What can I do?” He breathed. 

“I… I don’t… I can’t go back to mine,” she stammered, “He knows where I live, Bellamy, he knows… I can’t…” 

The panic was giving her an odd kind of vertigo, everything was coming and going too fast, sound not matching up with her surroundings. It wasn’t until she felt the car turn drastically that she realised Bellamy had even pulled away from the curb. She glanced up, and they were driving back the way they came, “What are you doing?”

“Taking you to O’s,” he said steadfastly, “She’s probably going to Lincoln’s tonight anyway, but even if she wasn’t, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”

“Thank you,” she panted, and he just nodded. She spent the rest of the drive trying to get her breathing under control, feeling his eyes on her every mile or so, checking that she was alright.

* * *

* * *

He unlocked Octavia’s apartment and held the door open for her, hovering half a foot away, seemingly reluctant to touch her. 

She trudged in and made a beeline for the couch, sinking slowly down onto it, using the familiar sensations to ground herself. She closed her eyes and curled herself into a ball, her knees up under her chin, lying on her side, pressed firmly against the back of the couch. She had gotten her breathing under control, but the more she lay there without a distraction, the more her calm wavered. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but she felt the sofa dip with Bellamy’s weight, and when she opened her eyes, there was a cup of coffee on the table across from her, and he was thumbing through the first aid kit in his lap. 

She sat up enough to face him, and he surveyed her concernedly, eyes locking onto the cut on her cheek. 

“I’m fine,” she whispered, but even she didn’t believe herself anymore. 

“Drink your coffee,” he said sternly, his expression grim.

She humoured him, bringing the mug to her lips and downing the whole thing in one. Once she put the cup back down, he shuffled closer and dipped a cloth in the small bowl of water on the table. He looked uncertain, “We need to clean that cut before it gets infected.”

“Okay,” she said simply, and he frowned. 

“If you want to do it–” he offered the cloth to her, and she shook her head.

“I don’t care,” she sounded hollow, unlike herself.

“Are you sure?” His eyes were darting around her face, trying to determine if she was as certain as she sounded, and while she appreciated the concern, she sighed at him.

“It’s fine, it barely hurts, just do it.”

“Okay, but if it gets too much, you need to tell me. I don’t want to hurt you; you have to say when.”

She nodded, and his hand hovered over her for a moment, intense concentration on his face. When he moved, it had barely brushed her skin before she loudly said, “When!”

Bellamy nearly jumped out of his skin, flinching back, until he realised that she was just messing with him. He slumped, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “Jesus Clarke, don’t do that!”

She giggled at his reaction, “Why not? It’s funny.”

“I’m trying to help you, did you want me to just leave it to get infected?” He scolded, coming off more like a disappointed mother than anything else. She only laughed harder, forgetting for the briefest of moments why she was sitting in her best friend’s house at 1am with a person she was supposed to hate. 

He jokingly moved to get up.

“No, no, I’m sorry, please don’t go,” she said, her face falling as she held his wrist, stopping him from leaving. 

He sat back down, fingers on her chin so he could tilt her head into the light, and pressed the cloth to her cheek. He was right about it hurting: both the pain of the raw cut and the pressure on the bruise were making her eye water. She drew in a sharp breath, and his forehead crinkled with concern. She closed her eyes to stop the offending watery eye from overflowing, and Bellamy moved the cloth up a little, making another stab of pain dart across her cheek.

“Clarke, you good?” He asked softly.

Her blue eyes flew open to meet his worried brown ones.

“That’s the fourth time you’ve used my name,” she said.

He let his gaze flicker back to her cheek, “You’ve been through a lot tonight, the least I can do is not be a dick for an hour or two.”

“You’re not a dick,” Clarke said, her voice sounding a lot smaller than she wanted it to. 

He huffed, clearly about to retort.

“ _I mean it, Bellamy_ ,” she said earnestly, “you’re a really, really good person.”

“Anyone would have helped you,” he started. 

“No.” 

“Clarke–”

She shook her head, dislodging his hand and making her hiss from the pain, but she persisted, “No, Bellamy, not everyone. I was _lucky_ that you were still there. I don’t know what I would have done if…”

He knew where her mind had gone and sat up straighter, brushing her hair out of her face. “Don’t think about that,” he ordered as he stuck a band-aid over her cheek carefully, “you’re okay.”

He sounded like he was trying to reassure himself as much as her. 

“What if I’m not?” She asked, tears finally threatening to spill over her lashes as the full weight of what had happened crashed over her. She felt her breath hitch and her vision blur and she covered her face with her hands, trying not to break down. 

“If you’re not okay right now, Clarke, that’s alright. It’s okay to not be okay.” He said fingers ghosting down her arm. 

“I don’t know what to do! I have to keep dating him, for months, and what if he tries to sleep with me again, and oh god, what if when I try to break it off, he doesn’t take no for an answer, and–”

“That won’t happen.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Yes I do, Clarke, because I’m not letting him touch you again,” he growled, and when he reached up to pry her hands from her face, she let him. He quickly withdrew his hands and packed up the first aid box, placing it on the floor.

“I have to let him touch me again, Bellamy.” She said, completely defeated. 

“Why?” He sounded frustrated now, and she couldn’t blame him.

She pulled her legs off the floor to sit cross-legged in front of him. She was really doing this; she was really about to tell her biggest secret to Bellamy Blake. She took a deep breath, “How much do you know about my dad’s murder?”

He sat back a little, “I, uh… I don’t know. What the papers said, I guess.”

“He was a lawyer, and a really good one,” she explained, “I don’t mean good as in good at his job, which he was, I mean good like a good person. He took so many pro bono cases, it gave his firm a reputation for taking on injustice, no matter where, no matter what. That’s _so rare_ , in a field full of psychopaths and narcissists. He spent a lot of time downtown, meeting with potential clients, and visiting old ones. That's how I met Murphy, it's how he maintained his connection to the people he helped. And then one day there was a drive-by shooting on the street where he was visiting a client, and like the good person he was, he ran up to help, pressed his jacket into the bullet wound of a dying fifteen-year-old kid, called an ambulance…”

“And they came back.”

“They came back,” Clarke sounded resigned, “They drove past again and opened fire on everyone who was trying to help. It wasn’t just my dad, there was a pregnant woman and two other young kids there too. The worst part was, we all knew who had done it – it was Pike’s men, or maybe even the man himself – my father had ruined enough of his schemes that he probably just saw my father there and took the opportunity. But despite a dozen witnesses, no-one came forward for fear of being his next target, and despite the security footage catching part of it, there was no clear way to convict him. Everyone, _everyone_ knew who had done it, but he got away with it." 

Bellamy didn’t say anything, he just waited for her to finish. 

“And my mother… she was distraught, she was furious that the legal system my father had spent years using to help everyone else was screwing us out of justice. So…” Clarke swallowed. She’d never told anyone this story, “So my mother called up the only person powerful enough to make a move on Pike. The only person in Polis that the law couldn’t touch.”

“Dante Wallace,” Bellamy closed his eyes for an instant, and it was clear that he’d already worked out how this was going to end, but she had to continue. 

“The papers said that someone retaliated for Pike attacking the fifteen-year-old kid; tortured him and then slit his throat in an abandoned warehouse, as some kind of sick penance. But that wasn’t true. Pike was taken out by one of Wallace’s men, at the request of Senator Abigail Griffin. And ever since, my mother has owed Dante a favour. So when Cage’s image was threatened because of leaked photos of him at a brothel, Dante claimed his favour.”

“And your mother just offered you up?” He sounded aghast, and she smiled humourlessly. 

“She didn’t really have a choice,” she said quietly, “he would have done something to hurt her, or me, if she’d refused. It just so happened to coincide with my own… indiscretion… so my mother managed to frame it as a positive thing for both of us, which is why I’ve put up with it for so long.”

“You shouldn’t have to do this, Clarke.”

She looked up at him and she was certain his expression was mirroring hers: anxious and hurt and a little angry. Her breath hitched and he shuffled forward. 

He was trying to reassure her, and he reached out to brush her knee. She flinched back at the unexpected touch, and he moved back immediately, hands in the air as a gesture of surrender, trying very hard to not trigger any more distress. But when he reached the other end of the couch, she only felt worse. He was so worried about hurting her that he was just reminding her what it felt like to be touched with malice, and it made her throat feeling like it was closing up. 

She curled back up onto her side and staring blankly at the black screen of the TV, wondering if she would feel this way forever: constantly wavering between numb and panicked, hollow and frantic. That was the last coherent thought spinning around her mind as the tendrils of sleep beckoned welcomingly, and she let herself drift away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's the major incident out of the way - now for chapters and chapters of emotional turmoil and angst!
> 
> I hope you're still invested in this story, because I really love writing it. 
> 
> Come and yell at me on my main tumblr @talistheintrovert or send me prompts on my writing tumblr @introvertedtaliswrites
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos, I can't even put into words how much they all mean to me (which, considering I'm a writer, is positively shameful) <3 <3 <3


	7. I'm Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke finds herself a new catchphrase in her efforts to reassure everyone that she's okay, and Bellamy takes care of her.

_Cage was holding her too tight and his breath was in her nose and her mouth, cutting off her air. Everything felt thick, like moving through quicksand, but he was fast as he backhanded her, the pain ricocheting around her head in slow motion even as he lifted her dress. His face started contorting into something almost unrecognisable, something evil, and she tried to call out for help but there was no-one there._

  
  


She sat bolt upright, yelling out from the horrible moment she’d been reliving in her sleep.

“Shit, are you okay?” Bellamy burst into the room and ran to her side, sitting down on the edge of the bed. He lingered there uneasily, clearly undecided whether he could touch her, or if that would be more upsetting.

She was in Octavia’s room. She didn’t remember how she got there – she remembered curling up into a ball on the couch for a long time, staring at the wall, and then eventually everything dimmed, so she had probably fallen asleep like that. He must have carried her to bed. She was still in her clothes from the previous night, except her shoes were gone.

Bellamy sat on the edge of the bed, “Clarke?”

“I’m fine, I wasn’t… It was just a nightmare,” she said, rubbing her face. Her throat felt dry and scratchy, and when she swallowed, her neck muscles contracted painfully, and she tried not to think about why, “What time is it?”

“One o’clock.”

 _“Fuck,_ ” Clarke groaned, reaching for her bag, which he’d left on the nightstand, “I missed lunch.”

He snorted, “I can make you lunch, Princess.”

“No, I mean… with my mother; every Saturday I have lunch with my mother,” Clarke said as she discovered her phone right at the bottom of her bag, full of texts and missed calls from Abby, as well as a few from Raven and Octavia, and the worst of them - voicemails from Cage. She dug her fingernails into her palm, using the pain to focus herself, push through the fear.

Just as she was about to elaborate, her phone started ringing again, a name flashing up:

***Mom***

“I’ll give you some privacy,” Bellamy said, but he had barely shifted an inch before Clarke’s hand clutched his. He gave her a questioning look, and she responded with pleading eyes. He returned to his place on the mattress and tried to take his hand back, but she gripped it for strength while she answered the call, putting it on speakerphone.

“Hey mom,” she said weakly.

“Clarke Griffin where the hell have you been? I’ve been calling you for an _hour_ , I was about to send out a search party! I swear, if you’ve skipped out on lunch with your mother to spend time with that Lexa girl–”

“No, Mom! I’m at Octavia’s.”

“Oh.” All of the aggravation seemed to leave her, “Well why haven’t you called?”

“I had a rough night, so Bellamy drove me to Octavia’s and I fell asleep here. I guess I slept through my alarms.”

“Why didn’t Octavia wake you? She knows we have lunch,” Abby scolded.

“She’s at Lincoln’s,” Clarke said, and then bit her lip, too late to take it back. She should have kept her mouth shut, because now she could practically see the cogs whirring in her mother's sharp mind as she clucked her tongue down the line at her in that way only Abby Griffin could.

“Right… so if Octavia isn’t there, why didn’t Bellamy just drop you off at your apartment? Why take you to hers at all?”

Clarke’s hand tightened around Bellamy’s, and he stroked his thumb over her knuckles to calm her down. It was, surprisingly, working.

She took a deep breath, “Y’know what Mom, I really don’t want to get into it right now, so–”

“Clarke, you owe me an explanation! I have been sitting here, out of my mind with worry, for over an hour,” Abby snapped, and now it was Bellamy gripping her a little harder. She glanced up at him, but he was staring at her phone, a vaguely disgusted look on his face. He quickly loosened his grip, switching back to rolling her fingers gently in his own, almost absentmindedly, trying to sooth her.

“Mom, I promise I’ll explain next time I see you, but right now I just really don’t want to talk about it,” she tried, voice wavering slightly.

"No, Clarke–”

“Hi Mrs Griffin,” Bellamy said loudly, and Clarke’s eyes widened at him, “We haven’t met, but I’m Bellamy. Your daughter is being very calm right now, but I’m not very good at that, so I’m only going to manage this once – _back off_. She will call you later, or tomorrow, or next week, whenever she’s good and ready, but right now, she is asking you to leave her alone.”

He was protecting her, from her mother, from having to say the words, from her own mind, and she didn't know how to cope with it. She had never in a million years thought that Bellamy Blake would be the perfect person in a crisis, or the person who held her hand while she tried to keep it together, and she felt a lump in her throat. Teardrops starting trickling down Clarke's cheeks and she dropped her phone into her lap, breathing heavily. He noticed how quickly she was descending into misery, and immediately forgot that he was angry at Abby, attention switching to her.

“Clarke, are you alright?” He asked softly, letting go of her hand so his fingers could sweep the tears off her cheeks gently. She couldn’t believe it was the first time she’d actually wept over it all – she’d held off all night long, only for Bellamy being nice to make her cry.

“Yeah,” she mumbled, trying to calm down.

“What can I do?”

“It’s okay Bellamy, I’m fine,” she said, but that only made her cry harder.

“No you’re not, Princess,” he said, reaching for the box of tissues on the bedside table and offering it to her. She scrunched one up and started dabbing under her eyes, feeling embarrassed.

“Clarke? What’s going on?” Abby’s voice called out from the phone’s speaker, and Clark opened her mouth to reply, but bumped the cut on her cheek and winced.

“You good?” Bellamy asked, brushing her hair out of the way so he could check on it.

“I’m _fine,”_ Clarke said, looking at him but loudly enough for her mother to hear, “I’m just a bit under the weather, and Bellamy offered to take care of me, even though I’ve _repeatedly_ told him that I’m okay. I guess raising Octavia made him a bit of a mother hen.”

She directed the last comment at Bellamy, and he pretended to be offended, which made her smile despite the fact that her heart was sitting somewhere in her throat.

“How dare you – take that back,” he said, even as he offered her a glass of water, concern all over his face.

“You don’t even like me, and you’re fussing over me like a particularly panicky nurse,” she pointed out. Her hands were shaking slightly as she brought the glass to her lips and her chest was stuttering wildly, the cool liquid not doing anything to quell the panicked fire in her chest. She didn’t think she could maintain this level of calm for much longer, so she took a shuddering breath, “Mom, I promise I won’t sleep through it next Saturday, just please… I’m sorry I missed lunch.”

There was a long pause where Clarke felt her heart hammering against her ribcage, and then her mother said, “Okay, Clarke. You just scared me, that’s all. I’ll see you next Saturday.”

The call ended and Clarke fell forward into her hands, propping herself up with her elbows on her knees, and sobbed. Bellamy picked up her phone and removed it from her field of vision, hand splayed on the bed where she could see it, deliberately avoiding touching her.

Bellamy’s weight lifted from the bed and she reached out for him, “Please don’t go?”

She managed to catch his palm, and she closed her eyes for a moment as his fingers squeezed hers, grounding her enough for the growing panic attack to subside and give way to the realisation that she was still in the clothes from last night. He let his arm drop back to his side, and she couldn't bring herself to look into his face, but she stared at his wrist as it swung slightly beside his hip.

“I’m just going to the kitchen,” he said reassuringly, “I’ll make you some lunch.”

“Okay,” she said, nodding, “I’m gonna have a shower.”

“Good idea,” he said.

She got to her feet, and with some effort, managed to look up at him. The scowl he usually wore like a jacket had been shrugged away, replaced with compassion, and warmth was sitting in the crinkles of his eyes. She was thrown by it, and the combination of that and standing up too quickly led to her swaying precariously, “Did you tell anyone?”

He shook his head, hands hovering either side of her in case she fell, “No, I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to, and I didn’t want to do anything without asking.”

“Including touching me, it seems,” Clarke snapped, irritated, but not really at him. He was just there, an easy target for misplaced anger. She raised an eyebrow at his outstretched arms and he drew them back against his chest, folding them defensively.

“I’m just trying–”

She sighed, already feeling guilty, “Sorry, I know you’re trying to help, and I really appreciate it, but the fact that you’re not touching me is more obvious and distracting than if you were.”

“I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he said. The frown that usually sat between his eyebrows was back, joined by eyes harbouring something akin to guilt, and her heart clenched. Bellamy, who hadn’t been able to say more than a word to her without a dirty look, barely a day ago, was suddenly thinking solely of her feelings. Judging by his expression, he also felt a good deal of responsibility for what happened, which was ridiculous – he had done everything exactly right.

“You’re not making me uncomfortable,” she said, “In fact, you’re pretty much the only thing that isn’t; every time I close my eyes I can feel him against me, and my skin hasn’t stopped crawling since yesterday. But you’re being so nice to me, and you’re respecting my boundaries, and you’re defending me to my mother, and it’s… I thought I was gonna have a panic attack when my mom called,” she stammered, “just… you’re _not making me uncomfortable_. You can touch me, I’ll be fine. And even if I’m not, you’ll take care of me… right?”

He was silent for a moment and she cursed herself for saying anything. She couldn’t look up at him, she was so embarrassed, so she stared pointedly at his shirt instead, trying to work out exactly what she’d said and whether or not is was possible to take any of it back. She almost groaned out loud at the fact that she was seemingly just expecting him to take care of her. She opened her mouth to correct herself, “I mean, I don’t… you don’t have to. I’m not… I don’t _expect_ you to do anything, and I can manage _just fine on my own_ , and it’s–”

“Yeah, Princess, I’ll take care of you,” he said quietly, “But at the moment I’m just trying to avoid being a trigger for anything that might upset you.”

She didn’t think about it, she just leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his middle, burying her face into his chest. He froze for a moment, hands hovering in surprise, before he wrapped them around her. She dug her nails into his back and if it hurt, he didn’t give her any indication, he only continued to hold her. She hadn’t imagined that hugging Bellamy would feel like this, so soft and secure, but then she hadn’t often imagined hugging Bellamy Blake. Strangling him to death, sure, even fucking him against a wall, but not cuddling.

He was murmuring things in her ear, but she couldn’t hear them over the sound of her own frantic heartbeat as it thrummed through her skull. One of his hands was in her hair, and he pressed his chin into the top of her head. He smelled faintly of diesel, but there was another, stronger scent that she couldn’t put a finger on, something which was distinctly Bellamy. She tried to commit it to memory. He started running his fingers through her hair soothingly and a wave of calm washed over her. The knot of anguish was still sitting in her stomach, but her lungs felt more open, and the constant threat of tears had abated somewhat.

“Now there’s something I thought I’d never see,” Octavia’s astonished voice said.

Bellamy let his arms go slack, and Clarke released him, wavering on her feet when she stepped away, which of course only made him stretch out an arm in case she needed it. She shot him a grateful look before she turned to find her friend leaning against the wall of her room, standing beside her boyfriend. They were both watching them suspiciously, distrusting of a situation in which Bellamy and Clarke would ever hug.

“Pancakes?” Bellamy asked Clarke, and she nodded silently. He ducked past his sister, avoiding her gaze as he disappeared into the kitchen.

“Why are you hugging my brother, dressed in last night’s clothes, in my room?” Octavia asked pointedly. She wasn’t one to beat around the bush, and she looked more than a little bothered by the situation.

Lincoln put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off and continued to glare at Clarke. Octavia hated vague answers, so Clarke knew she would need to explain, or feel the wrath of her friend. But something about Octavia's anger had always been a little unbridled, and a flash of Cage's furious expression as he called her a whore sprung forth, catching Clarke by surprise. She knew, rationally, that Octavia wouldn't hurt her, but the familiarity of the rage in her face was making the walls close in.

“I…” Clarke suddenly found herself feeling lightheaded and panicky again, “Can I just tell you in a minute, I really want to shower first.”

“No, I think you can tell me now,” there was a dangerous glint in Octavia’s eyes, something mistrustful, and Clarke tried to find the words to explain, but her lungs weren’t taking in air like they were supposed to and her heart was fluttering erratically.

“Octavia, please, I’ve had a really long night–”

“Are you sleeping with my brother?”

“No!” Clarke said, and her throat felt tighter.

“Well then what the hell is going on? You disappeared last night, you didn’t return my texts, Bellamy left Echo at the bar, and no-one could tell me where either of you were, and then I find you in my bedroom, hugging? What the fuck, Clarke?!”

Clarke didn’t have time to realise that her brain wasn’t getting enough oxygen before darkness began clouding the edge of her vision. She crumpled to the floor in a heap, gasping for air, and she was dimly aware of Octavia calling her name. She gripped at her thighs and one of her friends reached for her shoulder, but that only made her recoil in fear, and in the time it took for her to blink, she was no longer in her best friend's room, she was right back in the alleyway.

There were heavy footfalls and then, _“Fuck, O, what did you do?”_

“I don’t know, she just started hyperventilating!” Octavia sounded nervous and a little defensive.

_“Out.”_

“Bell–”

“Get the _fuck_ out, O.”

But Clarke was barely registering all of that because she was beside a dumpster with Cage’s weight against her and the wall pressing into her back and his hands on her dress, and everything was too much and the walls were closing in and she couldn't breath and she couldn't see and nothing made sense and–

“Clarke? Hey, Clarke, you’re okay…” it was Bellamy’s voice that brought her back to reality, and the thumping bass in her ears slowly faded away, the room coming back into focus. She felt his hands on her cheeks, compelling her to look up at him, “You're okay, he’s not here, he can’t touch you. You’re okay.”

Her breathing evened out a little and she nodded frantically, trying to calm down. There was a faint smell of smoke, and Lincoln and Octavia were nowhere to be seen, presumably following the orders of the elder Blake.

“It’s alright, you’re alright. Everything is okay.” He said firmly, and then, with a grin, “Except that running in here to rescue you means that I definitely burned the first pancake.”

“You don’t have to rescue me,” she panted, managing to make it sound teasing, but the smile tightened around his eyes and she knew it was the wrong thing to say.

“I know.” He said softly, "But to be fair, you frightened the life out of Octavia, and Lincoln was about to call an ambulance.”

“Sorry,” she said instinctively, and he shook his head.

“Don’t apologise,” he huffed, irritated, and it almost made her smile. He stroked her hair from her eyes, “But if you could give me some kind of warning the next time you stop breathing, that would be great. Then I wouldn’t burn your lunch.”

She laughed. It was strained and he knew it, but at least she wasn’t freaking out anymore.

Bellamy let his hands drop from her face and offered them to her, pulling her carefully to her feet, “You good?”

“I’m fine,” she said, and a muscle in his jaw twitched, but he didn’t say anything. She closed her eyes for a moment, getting her bearings, and when she opened them, he was holding out a clean towel.

“Shower; you'll feel better.”

“Can you…” she rubbed a hand over the sore part of her neck, catching the way his eyes flicked down to it and darkened a little, anger showing through. She wondered, for the first time since it happened, what she must look like, how she appeared to him. The blaze of anger when he'd first seen her the night before was enough to convince her that it was more than a little obvious what had happened, and she almost didn't want to see herself. She swallowed, “Could you tell Octavia that I’m fine? Make something up, I don't know... I don’t think I can lie to her, but I don’t want to tell her the truth and drag her into this. You know how hot-headed she is. Please?”

His eyes darted back up to meet hers, and there was her name again, slipping off his lips like he’d never called her anything else, “Clarke...”

“Just… please, Bellamy?” She pleaded, “I’m not sure I can bring myself to.”

He nodded and touched her elbow gently, guiding her out of Octavia’s room, past the scowling girl herself, and into the bathroom, where he turned on the shower and fiddled with the temperature for a minute while she just stood there, numb. He moved to leave and she reached behind herself to try and undo her dress but it was bent at an odd angle and she realised quickly that she would need help. Before he could get any further, she said, “Bellamy… my zipper is broken.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, but it wasn’t mean, or a challenge, like it usually was: it was a question.

“It got crushed, and… it’s jammed. Could you…”

Bellamy had never sounded so uncertain, or so concerned, when he stood in front of her and asked, “You want me to take off your dress?”

She didn’t say anything.

“Would you rather I sent in Octavia?”

“No,” she admitted, “Because she’s angry at the moment, and it’s scaring me. I know it’s not her fault, but it just keeps reminding me about…”

She touched a finger to the cut on her cheek.

He winced, “Clarke, I _really_ don’t think this is a good idea. I don’t want you to panic or feel worse. Is there really no other way you could get the dress off?”

She rolled her eyes and the remark fell from her before she could stop it, a defence mechanism she picked up a long time ago, one which she forgot to temper sometimes, “Well, you could always _rip_ it off, like _he_ tried to.”

Bellamy went completely still in that moment, and she pinched the bridge of her nose, cursing her smart fucking mouth and her inability to just admit that she needed his help. She didn’t dare look up at him, for fear of what she would find in his eyes – guilt, remorse, anger and hatred all seemed like possible contenders – and she knew she caused it. Eventually though, she felt his palms brush over her shoulders, and his fingers tug at the remaining straps of her dress. She turned around, still staring at the tiled floor, and he slid them down until he reached the zip.

“This is damaged. I might have to cut it off,” he muttered, “But then your dress will be ruined.”

“Good. The second it’s off, I’m setting it on fire,” she hissed, and he chuckled humourlessly.

“Slow down, we’ve already burnt enough today,” he hummed introspectively for a moment and then she felt the unmistakeable cold metal of scissors against her back, and he sliced through the spaghetti straps and the clasp of the zipper. Clarke held the dress up against her chest, and he took a huge step back and said gruffly, “Shower. There will be pancakes when you’re done.”

“Thanks, Bellamy,” she murmured.

He closed the door behind him and then she was alone, properly, for the first time. She released the dress and the fabric sailed to the floor, pooling around her ankles. Then she made the mistake of looking in the mirror.

She gasped.

Her cheek was bruised, blue and green surrounding the beige band-aid over the cut, spreading outwards. Her hair was knotted and tangled, and when she pulled it aside, she understood why the sight of her neck had made Bellamy so furious. There were no distinctive finger marks, because he hadn’t been using his hands – there was just one big, dark bruise there. It almost looked like a shadow from the light above her, but when she tilted her chin up, the dark stain didn’t disappear with the rest of them. She had cuts all down her back, and bruises everywhere. The worst was her left breast: small finger-shaped marks were there, dark and vicious, and she remembered the feeling of his hand gripping her too tight as he shoved her even harder into the wall and yanked at her hair and–

No.

She needed to stay calm.

She needed to breathe.

She stepped into the shower.

* * *

* * *

Bellamy had found a pair of her jeans she’d forgotten at Octavia’s a few months ago, and one of his own shirts and a hoodie, and hung them over the rail where her towel would go. She slipped them on. She was thankful that he hadn’t tried to give her one of O’s, because much as she and Octavia could share shoes, her shirts weren’t really an option for Clarke.

She stepped out of the bathroom and Octavia and Lincoln were already sitting at the table, watching her carefully. He must have told them something, because there was an inkling of guilt in her friend's eyes, and a stiffness to the way she was holding her cutlery. Bellamy offered Clarke a plate.

“Pancakes,” he said, pointing at the stack of them, “Eat.”

“Yes Mom,” she said, saluting, and he managed a half-smile in her direction as he ducked into the bathroom.

She tucked into her food and he emerged a second later with her dress in his hand, “Trash?”

 _“Burn it,”_ she said viciously, squeezing lemon juice onto her plate.

“Trash it is,” he chuckled, launching it into the bin by the door.

Octavia’s expression hardened as she stabbed at her food with a knife, and Lincoln stopped eating entirely and just stared at his plate. He opened his mouth once or twice, but seemed to think better of it and didn’t say anything. The silence was dragging out far too long, and it was heavy, like something was pushing it down on top of them.

Clarke slumped and announced to the room, “I’m fine.”

“I’m going to start making you give me five dollars every time you say that,” Bellamy said snarkily, and she threw the remains of her lemon at him. He dodged it and grumbled, “Real cute, Princess.”

There was another brief silence while they continued to eat and Bellamy pottered around the kitchen, wiping down the stove, but this one was more comfortable.

Eventually Lincoln spoke, a dark edge to his voice, “Bellamy said that you nearly got hit by a car, and you injured yourself jumping out of the way. Why didn’t you say something last night? If you had come and found me, I could have downloaded the security footage and found the guy.”

Clarke’s eyes darted to Bellamy, who was conveniently facing away from her, doing the dishes. He had lied for her, but with someone that had happened to her, something she could agree with, without it being a lie. She could have kissed him in that moment; relief washed over her and she turned to Lincoln, “I don’t think they meant to hurt anyone, and I’m fine, just a bit banged up.”

She was thankful the hoodie gathered around her neck, because she could explain everything else away, but the bruise on her neck was a little more difficult to blame on a car. 

“You should have called me,” Octavia said quietly, still just staring at her plate. 

“She was a bit freaked out, O, I just picked her up and drove her to the emergency room, and then she came back here, because it was closer than her apartment and she wanted to sleep. We didn’t even think about calling you,” Bellamy said exasperatedly.

He was giving her an odd look, and she realised that it had just occurred to him that he should probably take her to a doctor. She shook her head at him dismissively, but the compassion on his face was making her eyes water again and she hated herself and her stupid emotions, and a tear plopped onto her plate. 

He moved closer, “You alright Princess?

She composed herself, “Yeah, I’m fine, I just… I’m really not used to people being nice to me. Especially you.”

He sighed, sounding defeated, “I know, and I’m sorry I made you feel bad–”

She smiled, a small, genuine thing that lingered on her lips, “I actually like that you were such an ass. Everyone I have to be around uptown – they’re nasty, but it’s subdued, it’s in the cracks in conversation and the way they sneer down their noses at everyone and everything, like you’re _nothing_ : without having to say a single word. At least you're direct in your hatred. You being a dick actually reminded me how different I was to everyone over there, and it drew my attention to it when I was acting more like them.”

“Wow, Bellamy’s been your nemesis for, like, half a year, and all this time, you’ve been taking it as a good thing? I hate to break it to you, Clarke, but you’re an optimist,” Lincoln teased, and she laughed, taking in the image of the three of them, smiling back.

“No,” she rebutted, “Just a lawyer. Arguments make me a better counsellor.”

Bellamy groaned, “All this time I thought I was the thorn in your side, and you’ve been using me to make yourself _more amazing_. I hate you.”

But there was no malice in it, and there was something warm in his eyes that she’d only ever seen when he looked at Octavia or Raven.

“Right back at you,” she grinned, and for a fleeting moment, it was like the night before had never happened, and she was just having breakfast for lunch in Octavia’s small apartment.

* * *

* * *

Bellamy drove her back to her apartment, and as they reached the intersection that she’d had the panic attack on, she felt him staring at her. 

“Eyes on the road, Blake,” she said sternly, scrolling through emails on her phone. 

He exhaled through his nose, irritated, “Just making sure you’re okay, Princess.”

He spat the nickname out, but there was no real spite in it, not really. He was deflecting, trying to distract her from his concern, or maybe from her own feelings of worry about returning to her apartment. 

“I’m fine,” she said reflexively, and he held his hand out across the space between them. 

She raised an eyebrow. 

“I told you, five dollars every time you say that,” he said, tone deadly serious, but there was laughter in his eyes, and his lips were twitching. She smacked his hand away. He pretended to be offended, joking, “How am I supposed to afford dinner now?”

“God, if you want me to buy you dinner, Bellamy, you could have just _asked_ ,” she winked, “You didn’t have to try and extort it out of me.”

“Like I would ever have dinner with you,” he scoffed.

It was Clarke’s turn to feign an insulted expression, “How dare you? I’ll have you know I am a fucking _riot.”_

He was trying very hard not to smile, the corners of his eyes creasing as he pursed his lips, “I’m sure.”

She smacked his shoulder playfully, “ _I am_! I can’t believe you, I thought you were different, but you’re just like all the rest of them.”

“Rest of who?” He asked sceptically, probably expecting her to say ‘men’. 

“Our friends,” Clarke grinned.

And then Bellamy was laughing and it was one of the best sounds Clarke had ever heard. He kept running his hand through his hair, because his chuckling was making his whole body shake, throwing his messy curls into his eyes. 

“Trust me, I’m worse,” he jested, and then she was overcome with giggles of her own. 

“Don’t I know it,” she managed through her snickering, just as they pulled up to her building. She tried not to worry about what she would find in her apartment, if Cage or one of his father’s men would be there, but the fear wouldn’t shake. Her hand was suspended over the door handle, and she was understandably reluctant to leave the car, “Do you… do you want to stay for dinner?”

“I was joking, Princess, I can afford my own food,” he rolled his eyes in her direction. 

She swallowed, “I know, but… you could have dinner in my apartment before you drive home, if you… if you want.”

She could see the moment it clicked what she was really asking, and he turned the engine off immediately, “Sure, I could eat.”

The elevator ride up to her apartment wasn’t exactly awkward, but it wasn’t comfortable either. It was an odd momentum that this relationship had – it had swung quickly from hatred to mutual trust and respect, but now they had time to sit in it, it had slowed to being almost acquaintances. Clarke wasn’t sure how to deal with that. She liked him a lot more now, she was certain of that, but whether or not he liked her, or if he just felt bad for her, was yet to be seen. And she had been vulnerable around him, which was not a common occurrence for her: her father and Wells were really the only people she let see her like that, and they were both long since gone. Yet she wasn’t as bothered as she thought she’d be with the knowledge that Bellamy had witnessed her panicked or teary-eyed. Perhaps because he had reacted so instinctively caring and patient. Or maybe because it felt nice to emote in front of someone again.

When they reached her door, she became notably more agitated, and Bellamy put his hand between her shoulder blades, “Do you want me to go in first?”

She drew herself up to her full height and clutched her keys a little tighter, “No, I’m good.”

Her apartment was, blissfully, completely empty and seemingly unchanged from how she’d left it. Unfortunately, that did mean that there was a massive pile of dirty laundry over one of her armchairs, but Bellamy didn’t seem that bothered. To be fair, he’d spent his whole life raising Octavia, and that woman was _messy_. It probably made him feel more at home. He leaned against the kitchen counter while she perused her fridge. It was bordering on empty, and she groaned and pressed her forehead to the freezer door. 

“Take out?” Bellamy asked, his phone already in his hand. 

“Yeah,” Clarke said absentmindedly. 

“Any particular preference?”

“I’ll eat anything,” she said, then pulled out her own phone, “I think I should call Murphy and Emori. They’re the only other people who know what happened. Echo knows that there was something wrong, but as far as she knows, it’s handled. Murphy won’t let it go unless I ask.”

Bellamy frowned as he dialled the pizza place, and said softly, “Maybe he shouldn’t let it go.”

But before she had time to say anything, he was ordering food, and she sighed and called Murphy. Her day was yo-yoing between good and bad, easy and difficult, and she just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep for days. Instead, she waited in silence for her friends to arrive with the food, and Bellamy tried to clean her kitchen until she forced him to sit down. It felt oddly domestic, sitting on her living room couch with Bellamy, scrolling through her phone for something to distract herself, while his gaze kept flicking between the TV and her face, studying her for signs of anxiety. 

After a minute, she rolled her eyes and pulled a five dollar bill from her wallet, putting it in his palm. He raised his eyebrows at her quizzically, until she said, “I’m fine. Stop worrying.”

He sighed and leaned back, lolling his head at the ceiling, “Don’t ask me to do something impossible, Princess.”

She smiled, and for the first time since Cage's anger had burned through her office, the heat in her chest subsided just a little. It was like a cool breeze was rolling through her apartment, emanating from the man to her right, and she wished more than anything that she could maintain that level of cold stillness for as long as possible.


	8. I'm Not Checking On You

Hours later, Bellamy, Murphy and Emori were sitting in her apartment, discussing what to do about the Cage problem, while Clarke watched on silently from her place on the couch. Bellamy had made coffee, and put on some quiet music in the background, and her anxiety at being in her apartment slowly abated. 

She had invited them all around to tell them that they had to let it go, which, unsurprisingly, none of them were particularly willing to do. It had devolved into an argument: Emori trying to change Clarke’s mind, and Murphy and Bellamy trying to brainstorms ways to murder Cage in his sleep.

“We could corner him somewhere, beat him to death?” Murphy suggested, downing the last of his drink and slamming the mug down on the coffee table.

Clarke had enough, “You’re not murdering anyone!”

“Not even the guy who raped you?” Murphy snapped back, and Bellamy and Emori both winced. 

“He didn’t rape me,” Clarke said quietly, and it was like a stun grenade had been unleashed in the small room, with the impact it had. All three of them turned to look at her, eyes wide. She rubbed her forehead, “He… he tried… but I hit him with a whiskey bottle and tried to run. He definitely assaulted me, but he didn’t get that far… it didn’t… _he_ didn’t… _I can’t…”_

Tears had sprung up, again, and they felt hot against her cheeks, shameful, like it wasn’t worth crying over.

And then Bellamy was crouched in front of her, “Okay, hey, you’re okay Clarke.”

“I just feel so…” She wrung her hands, unable to find the words.

“I know,” he said softly, rubbing her arms soothingly, “I know. I’m so sorry.”

“What are you sorry for, it’s not your fault? It’s _mine_ ,” she said, and the look on Bellamy’s face was enough to make her breath catch.

“Clarke,” his eyes were boring into hers and she sniffled, trying and failing to look away. He held her hands, “That’s bullshit. Please tell me you know that?”

“Of course it’s my fault, Bellamy. I’m the one who agreed to be in this stupid relationship anyway – even Murphy and Emori were trying to warn me against it, and I just let everything slide. Because of my career.”

“And your mother,” he added. But that wasn't why she thought it was her fault. She tried to push down her misgivings, but when she spoke, her voice was constricted, and it made her sound as small as she felt.

“He already tried before.” She whispered and thunder seemed to roll through his body. He became an oncoming storm in that moment: the picture of righteous fury, quaking with rage. Surprisingly, she wasn’t afraid, not even a flicker of fear. She had a panic attack when Octavia raised her voice, but the very picture of violent anger in front of her didn’t make her feel unsafe. It made her feel protected.

“What did he do?” His voice was low. _That_ was why she wasn't afraid of Bellamy Blake - because he could keep his temper under control.

“After dinner last week, he got jealous and pushed me up against the door, and… I managed to get him off me by telling him I was tired, but he was… insistent.” It was the same word she’d used with her mother, but instead of getting a blank, muted response, Bellamy’s hands tightened over hers and Emori and Murphy both drew in sharp breaths.

“Clarke,” Emori said and her eyes jumped to her friend, who was standing closer to her now, wringing her hands, “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I didn’t want anyone to worry. I didn’t want… I didn’t want to believe that he would ever push it that far.” She looked back at Bellamy, “If I had said something earlier, maybe it wouldn’t have happened.”

“Or maybe it would have,” he said, voice a little shaky as he tried to tamp down his emotions, “And then you would still be sitting here blaming yourself, and where would that get us? This is Wallace’s doing, got it?”

She nodded and closed her eyes and he shifted so that he was holding her face. 

“Clarke?”

She sighed and gripped his forearms, eyes open to reassure him, “I’m good. But we can’t do anything. You have to _promise me_ that you won’t do anything. You already hit him, you need to stay off his radar. I’m going to keep dating him publicly, but I’ll make it clear that I never want to be in a room alone with him again, and if he breaks that agreement, then _maybe_ you can do something, but in the meantime, stay out of his sights. That goes for you too Murphy – no murder.”

“Just for the record,” Murphy said, arms folded, “I hate this plan.”

“Your complaint has been noted,” Clarke raised an eyebrow at him, “But I just need to get through the next two months, and then I’m free.”

It was in that moment that her phone started ringing, and Cage’s name flashed up on the screen. Her stomach clenched, but she knew what she had to do. She answered it.

“Hello?”

“Clarke, where the fuck have you been?! I’ve been calling you all day!” Cage’s voice was loud on the tiny speaker from the cell in her hands, and her friends were glaring at the phone like they blamed it for Cage’s behaviour.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking – although my neck’s a little bruised from where you rammed your arm into it,” she snapped, and she could feel Bellamy’s eyes on her now, as if he could fix her injury with his gaze. 

“You know I wouldn’t intentionally hurt you. You just pushed my buttons last night is all,” he said slowly. 

Murphy’s hand curled into a fist by his side as he paced back and forth, and Emori looked like she was about to snap the handle of the mug she was holding, but Bellamy just kept watching Clarke. 

She swallowed painfully, about to retort, when there was a loud pounding on the door, and his voice started to echo back and forth from the phone to outside her apartment, “Clarke?! _Clarke_ , I know you’re in there! I can hear my voice from out here. Open up!”

“It’s unlocked,” she yelled out, hanging up as he threw open the door and stomped into the room. When he saw that she wasn’t alone, he stopped dead in his tracks, chest heaving, the anger coming off him in waves of heat that slammed into Clarke. She hated it; all she wanted to do was get as far away from that raging fire as possible, but she needed to do this. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

She clenched her teeth and powered through her anxiety, standing up. Bellamy got to his feet next to her, hovering beside her for support. She crossed her arms, ignoring Cage's question and bypassing any normal greetings, “Here’s how this is going to work. You’re–”

“What?!” He hissed incredulously. 

“Do _not_ interrupt me,” she was almost surprised at how steady her voice was, “I am going to keep dating you, because it’s what your father wants – you can send me flowers, and visit me at work, and I will go on one public date with you per week, so that cameras can see us together – but two months and I’m done.”

“You’re in no position–”

“Actually, you’re the one who’s not in a position to be making demands. You tried to rape me, Cage, and I am a powerful criminal lawyer at the top firm in the country. If I wanted to, I could destroy you in a single afternoon. It’s only because of your father that I don’t. But if you turn up at my apartment unannounced, if you lay a hand on me without warning me first, I will set Bellamy and Murphy on you.”

She gestured at the men, both of whom were crackling with angry energy, different from Cage’s furious inferno, but just as powerful. If Cage’s anger was a forest fire, Murphy’s was a hurricane, chaotic and vengeful, and Bellamy’s was a thunderstorm, electricity tearing through his large frame, just waiting to become lightning as the rain poured behind his eyes. 

Wallace’s eyes swept across the room, bestowing his glare first on Bellamy, then her, then to where Murphy was standing, and when it reached Emori, he looked like he was about to scoff at the idea that she was any kind of protection. 

Clarke smiled, a false sweetness so saccharine it could cause cavities, “Emori could kill you with her bare hands, so don’t even think about it. Also, if you try anything at work, Octavia knows more ways to pulverise a man’s testicles than I know addendums and by-laws.” She didn’t mention that Octavia knew nothing about what had happened; it wouldn’t matter regardless, because if Octavia saw Cage attempt something shady, she would kick his ass, no questions asked.

“This is ridicul-"

“If you so much as _look_ at me the wrong way, I will end you. Is that clear?”

“I’m not sure you realise–”

 _“Is. That. Clear?”_ She drew the sentence out, talking over him.

He was silent for a long moment. 

“Yes.” 

“Excellent, I will see you next Wednesday for our public date, which we will tip photographers off to. You can go now.”

“You’re making a mistake.” His voice was full of malice, and it twisted something inside her, stabbing into her ribs from within.

“No,” she said, voice cold, “ _You_ made a mistake, when you dragged me into an alley and called me a whore.”

Bellamy’s jaw twitched, and he unconsciously moved closer to her, curling his fingers around the crook of her elbow, even as he maintained his angry stare at Cage. Murphy’s fists became so clenched that they were almost bone white, while Emori looked like she was about to pull a pocket knife out and slit his throat. 

Clarke continued, “You made a mistake, Cage, when you backhanded me, and assaulted me. You shouldn’t have done that, and you _definitely_ shouldn’t have threatened me in front of my friends. Your father might be Dante Wallace, but you’re not him – you’re not untouchable – and if anything happens to me or my mother, because you tattled to daddy, _I will burn your life to the ground.”_

She kept her icy glare on him until he’d retreated all the way back out of the apartment and into the hallway, closing the door behind him. After she was certain he wasn’t coming back, she collapsed back against the couch and breathed deeply through her nose, feeling like she’d run a marathon. 

“Holy shit, Clarke,” Emori breathed, "You're scary."

“That was terrifying,” Murphy agreed.

“Is it wrong that I’m a little turned on by that?” Emori asked, and her boyfriend snorted, trying to hide his mirth behind his hand and failing. 

“Yes,” Bellamy said, making a face. His expression softened when he switched his gaze to Clarke, however, and he returned to his seat beside her, “You okay?”

“Am I going to have to give you my money if I tell you I’m fine?” She asked lightly. 

He bumped his shoulder against hers, “Just this once, I’ll let it slide.”

“You’re a regular Bill Gates,” she said sarcastically, and he nodded, a grin forming. She took a deep breath and leaned into his side, resting her head on his shoulder, and he pulled her hand into his in response, comforting her even when he wasn’t consciously aware of it. 

“I think we deserve some alcohol, don’t you?” Murphy said, but it wasn’t really a question, and he darted around the corner. She could hear glasses clinking and cupboard doors opening and closing, and then he was back, balancing four glasses precariously on top of each other, wobbling around as he walked, a bottle of rum in his left hand, “Rum served with a side of excellent hand-eye coordination and a large amount of skill.”

Emori rolled her eyes and flopped into an armchair, “I can’t believe I’m in love with this idiot.”

Murphy put the bottle down on the coffee table and started juggling the glasses, “I can’t believe you’re in love with me either. I have to pinch myself twice a day, just to make sure I’m not dreaming.”

Clarke sniggered, “That is the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said while juggling.”

“Not true. I once told you that I really like The Princess Bride because of the romance, not the swordfights, while juggling your dad’s paperweights,” Murphy chucked the glasses at each of them, Emori’s landing in her lap, but Bellamy and Clarke both caught theirs one-handed, deftly snatching them from the air. 

“That isn’t cheesy, it’s just adorable,” Emori said chirpily, and he started pouring the rum while Bellamy and Clarke made retching noises. 

“I cannot believe you’re my oldest friend,” Clarke feigned exasperation, and Murphy laughed and made to poke her in the ribs as he stepped past her, but she instinctively flinched back. 

He froze and backed off a little, “You good, Griffin?”

She couldn’t work out why her heartrate was suddenly through the roof, and why the room suddenly felt too small, so she just nodded, “Yeah, just… you startled me, that’s all.”

But she had a feeling that wasn’t all it was – the place where his fingers had touched her was radiating a painful kind of heat, and it was like Cage’s hands were still on her. She downed her rum and tried to focus on the different kind of burning making its way down her throat.

* * *

* * *

She was back at work on Monday, stuck in her office all the way through what was supposed to be her lunch hour, but this time, no-one was coming to visit her. 

She was in half a mind to call Octavia, have lunch with her, but the truth was, all she wanted was to be alone – to throw herself into her work and forget that her life existed outside those four walls. Sometimes, her pocket universe came in handy, and today was one of those days; she kept herself isolated, calling clients and running through possible defences. She was just beginning to get stiff from hunching over her desk, when there was knock at her door and it swung open.

“Hey Princess,” Bellamy appeared, ducking into the room, bags of food in hand. 

She frowned, “What are you doing here?”

“I was in the area,” he tried weakly. 

“No you weren’t. Don’t you have work today?”

He managed to look a little sheepish, but he collapsed into the chair on the other side of the desk and slid the food over to her, “Yeah, it’s fine, it’s my lunch.”

“Bellamy it’s twenty minutes from there to here, and your lunch is an hour. You’re wasting forty minutes by coming up here to check on me,” she started tearing into the burger he’d handed her, and he picked at his fries. 

“I’m not checking on you,” he tried lamely.

She scoffed, “Really?”

He shrugged, “Alright, I’m checking on you. Just wanted to make sure someone was here with you in case Cage decided to show up.”

“That’s sweet, but really unnecessary, I’m–”

“-Fine?” He raised an eyebrow at her, and a smile started growing on her cheeks, along with an ache in her chest. 

She nodded, and he chuckled, leaning back in his chair. They ate in silence for a few minutes, while Clarke went through the paperwork from a deposition, until Bellamy became restless and started pacing around her office, studying the bookshelves intently.

“You read all of these?” He sounded surprised.

She didn't even look up, “Most of them – that top shelf is specific case law, so I only read those if I’m looking for something.”

“There’s medical journals,” there was a questioning note in his voice. 

“I thought about med school before I settled on law,” she muttered, trying and failing to concentrate on her work, “I also wanted to be an artist, until my mother convinced me not to.”

He glanced back at her, “You read medical journals for _fun?”_

“No, I read medical journals because they’re fascinating,” she said, skimming over the same sentence for the third time. 

He pulled a book off the shelf and thumbed through it, “How do you have time for a social life, with all the work you do?”

“I don’t,” she admitted. He frowned, still flicking through the pages and she straightened a little, “Well, _I didn’t._ Then I met Octavia and suddenly I had all these friends wanting to spend time with me. Before that it was just me and Wells, and after… once he was gone, it was just me. I sort of threw myself into anything I could find – law, medicine, art, novels, movies – anything to get out of my own head.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he said softly, replacing the book on the shelf and moving back to his seat. 

She gave up on trying to actually get any work done and focussed her attention on Bellamy. She took him in; his dark curls were messy around his face, and there was a smudge of something black on his jaw. He was wearing old jeans, faded and worn from overuse, and a t-shirt with a rip in one of the sleeves. There was something pensive in his eyes, and she knew immediately that he was thinking back to his own childhood – raising Octavia after their Mom died, forgoing college to work so that Octavia could go. She had never noticed it before, but she could see it then, how very _tired_ he looked. It was in the way he carried himself: like he could sleep for the rest of his life and it would never be enough. She knew the feeling. 

Something in his soft demeanour hardened as his eyes drifted to her neck. She was wearing a patterned scarf, which in winter was not a strange occurrence, but in summer, it did look a little odd. Most people uptown assumed it was some kind of fashionable accessory to her outfit, and she wasn’t likely to correct them. She had managed to conceal everything else with makeup, but her neck was easier to just cover. His gaze sat there for a moment, slowly darkening until she started to fidget uncomfortably. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, shifting to look down at his phone. Why did she get the feeling that he was apologising for so much more than staring?

She tried to break the tension by snatching his phone from his grasp, ignoring his protests. She tapped a few keys and handed it back, “There, now you have my phone number, and you don’t have to waste your break checking on me.”

“It’s not–”

“Whatever it is, it’s a waste of fuel and money, and I’m not letting you waste it on me,” she scolded, and something unreadable crossed his face, but he didn’t say anything so she pressed on, “So, if you’re worried, you can just text me. Like a _normal_ person.”

He nodded slowly, and then typed something. After a moment, her own phone pinged.

> ***UNKNOWN NUMBER***  
>  _Next time, lunch is on you, Princess._

A smile tweaked at her lips and when she looked up, her eyes met his and for the first time she noticed how soft the brown of his eyes looked – calming, like the ground after the rain. She realised she was holding his gaze for far too long, and tore herself away, clearing her throat.

“You should get going. I don’t want you to get in trouble at work.”

He looked like he was about to protest when the door burst open.

“You’ll never guess–” Octavia stopped dead in her tracks and took in the view. It was an admittedly strange sight: Clarke’s work pushed to the side to allow for her lunch, Bellamy across from her, his elbow on her desk, propping him up as he leaned across it to talk to her. Octavia’s mouth fell open, _“Bellamy?”_

“Hey O,” he said breezily, standing up and tucking his phone away, “I was just leaving. But, uh, Clarke,” he paused in the doorway, “Be careful, okay?”

“Thanks, Bellamy,” she said quietly, and he offered a half-wave as he disappeared down the hallway. 

Once he was gone, Octavia finally found her voice, “Why was my brother in your office?”

“He wanted to check up on me,” Clarke said, “Y’know, from the other night. Even though I told him I’m fine. Has he always been this overbearing?”

Octavia’s face broke into a grin, but something about it looked forced, “Oh yeah, and now that you two are friends, or _whatever_ , you’ll have to get used to it… Anyway, Griffin, I wanted to talk to you about office drama!”

* * *

* * *

The next day, when Cage dropped in for lunch, Clarke made sure they didn’t stay in her office. She met him in the eating area on her floor, where a group of paralegals and lawyers alike were clearly appraising him from their place in the corner. 

_If only they knew,_ Clarke thought, but what she actually said was, “How are you?”

Cage glared back, “Fine. How are you?”

She tapped her cheek where the bruise was hidden under foundation, “A bit under the weather, actually. But I’m sure I’ll be alright soon.”

His fist clenched around his fork, and she was about to make another snarky remark when her phone buzzed.

> **BELLAMY:**  
>  _Daily check-in, Princess._
> 
> **BELLAMY:**  
>  _If I don’t hear from you in two minutes I’m driving up there._

She rolled her eyes and typed back.

**CLARKE:**  
_Cage has stopped by for lunch! Before you ask: yes, I’m  
safe, yes, we’re in public, and no, he hasn’t tried anything._

  


> **BELLAMY:**  
>  _I’m coming up._

**CLARKE:**  
_Don’t you dare._

**CLARKE:**  
_I mean it, Bellamy, everything is okay._

> **BELLAMY:**  
>  _I don’t like this._

**CLARKE:**  
_No, really?_

> **BELLAMY:**  
>  _Sarcasm suits you. Call me if you need ANYTHING._

**CLARKE:**  
_I might need rescuing from his small-talk, but other than_  
_that, I’m good._

>   
>  **BELLAMY:**  
>  _You’re not funny._

**CLARKE:**  
_No, you’re right._  


**CLARKE:**  
_I’m hilarious._

 

“Who are you texting?” Cage asked, a familiar flicker of possessiveness in his expression. It was terrifying, how much he still felt he owned her, even after everything, and she pushed down the tug of fear in her gut. 

She frowned at him, “A friend.”

He nodded, “Sure. _A friend_. It’s _not_ your other boyfriend.”

Her frown deepened, “I don’t have another boyfriend. Unfortunately, it’s just you.”

“Right, so you’re not texting Bellamy?”

She picked at her salad, already frustrated at the conversation, and hissed, “Bellamy isn’t my boyfriend. A week ago, he was barely my friend. Weird how that happened, huh? I wonder what event could possibly have caused such a _dramatic turnaround?”_

With that, she stood up and announced her intention of getting some work done. She smiled at him, thanked him for spending lunch with her, loud enough for the people in the corner to overhear, and when he kissed her hand, she tried not to gag. 

As she walked back to her office, feeling like everything in her pocket universe was on fire, heat radiating from her knuckles where his lips had touched, her phone dinged.

> **BELLAMY:**  
>  _Fine, you’re a little funny._

And suddenly the heat was bearable again.


	9. Yes, We're Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Bellamy get closer, which causes a rift between Clarke and Octavia.

That week passed at a glacial pace, and yet somehow, she found she just couldn’t cool down. Cage’s fiery anger had taken root under her skin, making it impossible to relax. She flinched if someone touched her without warning, and even when she initiated contact, like handshakes, the only reason she didn’t react was because she had a moment to prepare. Her poker face had always been impeccable, something that helped her in the courtroom, but now it was the only thing keeping her from looking truly insane when she felt other people in her personal space. 

On top of everything else, Octavia had been acting strangely around her, and she didn’t have any idea why. Unfortunately, she didn’t have time to figure it out, because her caseload was immense, and she was back to not leaving the office until long after the sun had vanished and the moon had taken up residence as the light in the sky. 

Her date with Cage on Wednesday went smoothly, and she made sure there was at least one photographer outside when they arrived. He held her hand on the table when the flashes of the camera interrupted their dinner, and she felt that same sweltering fury emanating out from their fused palms. She hated every second of it, and when they reached the carpark and said their goodnights, making sure there were no cameras as they went to separate cars, she breathed a sigh of relief. 

She had intended to go home, but somehow, she ended up parked in front of Bellamy’s apartment. She just knew she was going to regret this, but she really didn’t feel like she had anywhere else to go. She couldn’t tell her friends why she was so upset, and Murphy and Emori were on their own date, judging by the ridiculous texts she’d gotten from him earlier. 

She knocked. 

When he opened the door and leaned against the doorframe, Bellamy was shirtless, and it took her a moment to adjust. 

“Clarke?” His confused eyes gave way to concerned ones, and she shook her head, clearing it. 

“Sorry, it’s late, I should have called. Or texted, or… sorry.”

“Are you,” he ran a hand through his hair, studying her worriedly, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I just… I, um…” it felt stupid, ridiculous, to say it out loud now.

“Did he hurt you?” There was that dangerous edge to his voice again, ready to strike at anything that might injure her. She thought it might make her feel better, but it only reminded her that there was someone out there who wanted to hurt her. 

She huffed out a painful breath, shaking her head, “No, I… I just didn’t want to be alone.”

His expression cleared and he immediately stepped back, wordlessly inviting her in. She seemed to realise at the same time as he did that she had never been in his apartment before. She caught him subtly close a door to his right, embarrassment colouring his cheeks. 

“Worried your room is too messy for the Princess’s standards?” She teased, and he turned a shade darker. She grinned, “Don’t worry, Bellamy, I’m a total trainwreck, I have no right to judge anyone else.”

He frowned, and she knew he was about to say something unnervingly nice again, so she cut him off by moving down the end of the hall and finding his living room. It was an open space that led into his kitchen, unlike her apartment, which was so large that they were completely divided by a wall. She noticed a cup of something hot by the couch and shuffled closer to investigate. 

“Were you drinking _tea_?” She asked, surprised. 

“So?” He grumbled defensively, and she elbowed him. He brushed past her, pulling a shirt over his head, and ducked into the kitchen, “I like tea.”

“So do I, I guess I just never pictured you drinking it.”

“Oh yeah?” He teased, opening a cupboard, “What _did_ you picture me drinking?”

“Whiskey, rum, scotch, y’know: grumpy-old-man drinks.”

“I’m _four_ years older than you,” he protested.

“And I’m pretty sure you’ve been a grumpy old man since you were a kid.”

“Can’t argue with that,” he muttered, putting an empty mug on the counter and pouring milk and hot chocolate powder into it. 

“I thought you were drinking tea?”

He raised an eyebrow at her, “I am. You’re drinking hot chocolate.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she moved closer to the kitchen counter and watched as he heated the drink and stirred it. When he handed it to her, he looked indecisive, and she couldn’t help but feel touched at his apprehension. 

“I only bought that powder for when O visits, so I can’t vouch for how good it is.”

She grabbed the mug from his hand greedily with both of hers, and for a brief moment, she was holding his fingers to the cup with her own. She tried not to think about how nice it felt for someone else’s skin to be touching hers and for her not to be disgusted. She especially tried not to think about the fact that the only person she felt even remotely comfortable touching was Bellamy Blake. 

“I’m sure it’s perfect,” she said to allay his fears, and followed him back to the couch. Once they were both situated comfortably, side by side, almost touching but not quite, she glanced around. It was sparsely furnished, but there was a large framed print of Raphael’s “School of Athens” fresco on one of the walls. She stared at it for a long time, sipping at her drink slowly. He was right, it was cheap hot chocolate, but she loved it, and she knew she would knock the whole thing back the second it had cooled enough. Finally, she gestured at the wall, “Why that painting?”

He seemed taken aback by the question, almost pleasantly so, like he had been expecting her to complain about the lack of gilding on the shelves.

“Uh… well, I can lie and tell you that I thought it looked cool,” he said nervously, “But the truth is, I really like the ideas it represents. Every philosopher that Raphael could think of, discussing their ideas in an open forum, all of them teaching each other and all of them learning – it’s brilliant, almost utopian. Greek and Roman myths are interesting because even though the religion of the old gods is long since gone, all the stories still have fascinating philosophical merit, and I feel like Raphael understood that – he aimed to create his own myth by painting that school, of a society where people use knowledge as their strength instead of weapons, where philosophy was the true power, not the people who wielded it.”

He seemed to realise he was on the edge of a rant and caught himself, unease and regret on his face. She knew that she was openly staring at him, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop; she wanted him to keep talking, but it seemed he was too self-conscious under her gaze. 

“Sorry,” she murmured, “That’s just… amazing.”

He blinked a few times, like his eyes were stuttering the words that were stuck in his throat. 

Clarke leaned forward, “I mean it, Bellamy, the way you talk about history, _hell_ , the way you talk in general… why don’t you do something with it?”

“I never went to college, Clarke,” he started, but she was already shaking her head.

“That’s irrelevant,” she shot back, and he smiled faintly at the familiar argument, “College isn’t an indication of intelligence. Plenty of stupid, irrational people went to the best colleges in the world, and besides, you’re smart, Bellamy. You could be a writer, or a historian, or a teacher, and only the last two require further education. You could be an author whenever you want.”

“And write _what?”_

“I don’t know… anything. I’d read it.”

“That’s sweet, Princess, but you’re the only one.”

“That’s crap and you know it,” she protested, “All our friends would, plus I would stand on street corners selling it to people if it came to that.”

He snorted, “I’d write a whole novel just to see that.”

“Deal,” she grinned knocking her mug to his and downing the last of her hot chocolate. 

He chuckled at her, and she sighed softly, finally relaxing. She leaned against him a little more, revelling in the feeling of his arm against hers, trying not to be disappointed that he was now fully clothed. 

“Do you want to stay here for the night?” He asked, “If you don’t want to go back to yours, I mean.”

She tried to swallow the rush of emotions that accompanied his offer and cleared her throat, “We’ve really got to have a talk about your selflessness problem.”

“I’m not that selfless, and it’s not a problem, do you want to stay here or not?” He snapped, but the annoyance didn’t land. 

“I should go,” she said doubtfully.

He sighed dramatically, “I’ll just change my bedsheets–”

“Absolutely not, Bellamy,” she said, horrified, “If I am staying here, I’m staying on the couch.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes I am.”

“Well, you’ve admitted you want to stay here, so at least we don’t have to have that argument. Look, Princess, everyone who stays at mine sleeps in my room – O, Raven, Murphy, Jasper, Monty – they’ve all done it. It’s like a rite of passage for my friends.”

“So we’re friends now?” She said, trying to sound like she was joking instead of confused and uncertain.

“Oh, I’m sorry, was that a conversation we needed to have? _Thank you for driving me home the other night, Bellamy, here’s my phone number, I’m sorry for showing up at your apartment close to midnight on a Wednesday, oh and also, are we friends?_ Yes, we’re friends.” He said it like it was obvious, but it hadn’t been to Clarke, and she was secretly relieved.

“Alright, you don’t need to be so testy,” she teased. She watched him get to his feet and move towards the hallway, but he stopped halfway there and turned back.

“Just so you know, I do actually like you, Clarke. You’re not my friend just because of Cage,” he said, shifting his weight nervously, “We would have become friends anyway, once I pulled my head out of my ass long enough to notice that you were a good person.”

She stood up and moved towards him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her chin into his shoulder. He reciprocated the hug almost immediately, his arms sliding easily around her waist, holding her to him as he nosed against her hair. 

When they broke apart, she poked him in the chest playfully, “For the record, jackass, I like you too. If I had known you were just a massive dork when we first met, I would have made way more of an effort to be your friend.”

“Whatever,” he rolled his eyes, but as he stepped into the hallway, he draped an arm over her shoulder and she walked with him to his room. 

She argued with him when he tried to change the bedsheets, promising that she had slept on far worse, and when he attempted to do it anyway, she flopped down on top of them. He yanked at them, but she just rolled over and pushed them back down again. Eventually, he gave up and she had a suspicion that it had been his intention in the first place, so that she would actually sleep in his bed instead of on the couch, and she couldn’t decide if she was annoyed or impressed, but she settled on tired. 

“Night, Clarke,” he said as he ducked out of the room, and she had just enough energy left to say his name before she drifted off.

* * *

* * *

Thursday morning was surprisingly easy. She was worried that she would have to skip breakfast, considering she had to rush back to her apartment and get a change of clothes before she went to work, but it ended up being easier than she thought. Bellamy was apparently an early riser, and he’d made her a whole plate of food and left it on the counter with a note.

_I hope you like bacon! If not, there’s fruit or toast, and I’m pretty sure there’s leftover pizza in the fridge if you feel like dinner for breakfast. I’m going for a run, so if I don’t see you before I get back, I hope you slept well. And I hope you know that you can do that anytime – you can always come over here if you need some space from everything uptown._  
_Eat some breakfast, friend._

She laughed and snatched some bacon off the plate, wolfing it down as she grabbed her bag and ducked out of the apartment. She ignored the small part of her that longed to see Bellamy Blake after a run and left for work.

* * *

* * *

The next week passed more easily, and that was due in large part to Bellamy's presence in her life. She texted him whenever she had a free moment, just talking to him about her day, and asking him about his. He sent her terrible jokes and she responded with entertaining gifs, and even when they were texting about Cage, she found she didn't feel as panicked as she had when she was dealing with him on her own. 

He stopped in on Friday to bring her lunch and make her promise not to work on Sunday, and he ended up staying until she finished work, sometime after 11pm, despite her repeatedly telling him he didn't have to. He protested that he wanted to, and proceeded to lie on the couch in the corner reading various books from her shelves and occassionally asking her questions. Raven texted her that day too, demanding that they meet up for drinks sometime soon, and Jasper and Monty cried into the group chat about how much they missed her. She found herself wondering how she had survived so long without friends, because now that she had them, especially Bellamy, she felt she would feel empty without them in her life.

She cancelled lunch with her mother on Saturday, unable to face the idea of acting as though everything was normal, even for an hour, and Bellamy realised how upset she was about it and offered to make her dinner once she finished work. When she arrived at his place, he already had the hot chocolate on the counter while he stirred the bolognese. They flopped on the couch to watch movies until the early hours of the morning, and she fell asleep with her head on his shoulder, and woke up alone in his bed. 

Monday rolled around and she was back at work, although she was enjoying it more because some of her cases had finally made it to the courtroom, and she could argue them instead of poring over sheets of paper until she no longer recognised the words. That night in his apartment, she told Bellamy how much she enjoyed being a lawyer sometimes, despite the workload, and he told her that her father would be proud of her. She wiped a tear away and he draped an arm over her shoulder and hugged her tight. Clarke fell asleep against him again, and when she woke up on Tuesday, she was back in his bed, and he had left her a note about breakfast while he went for a run. 

On Wednesday, _'the one week anniversary of you barging in here and demanding hot chocolate and friendship'_ , he gave her a key to his apartment, for emergencies, and told her that if she tried to give it back he would just start leaving his apartment unlocked. She laughed and pointed out that she hadn't _demanded_ anything, but she took it, complaining that he was too nice even as she wrapped her arms around his middle and buried her face in his chest. She found herself wishing he wasn't so nice, because it made the complex feelings she had surrounding him even more confusing.

Thursday night she crashed at his place again, and he pointed out that it had been just over a week since she first stopped by, and now she was basically living at his place. So she had rolled her eyes and pretended to leave, until he laughed and dragged her back to the couch. She sighed and curled into his side, and she tried as hard as she could not to fall asleep, so that Bellamy could finally sleep in his own bed again, but she just couldn't keep her eyes open. When she woke up, she was in his room, and he was in the kitchen frying bacon.

"What, no run this morning?" She asked curiously. 

"Not today, Princess," he said tiredly, putting coffee on the counter and gesturing at her, "Caffeine, drink, you're going to be late."

"You're no fun," she pouted, downing the hot coffee with ease.

"Yeah, because you're a _delight_ in the mornings," he raised an eyebrow at her.

"Yes, I am! And I don't like your tone," she complained.

"I suppose I'm not usually here to see you in the mornings, but I have seen you exhausted enough times to know that you don't have a sense of humour when you're tired. I guess I just figured it would be the same for the mornings as well."

"No such luck, I'm afraid, I am one of those people who wakes up ready for the day. I'm not chipper or anything, but once I'm awake, I'm awake."

"I'll keep that in mind if you ever bite my head off for waking you up," he said, handing her a plate of food.

She laughed and tore into the food, poking fun at him for his messy bedhead - which was still annoyingly attractive - and his frown of concentration as he did the cross-word puzzle.

"Old man." She teased as finished off her toast.

"Don't you have a job to get to?" He responded grumpily, and she laughed and hugged him over the back of the couch before she left.

* * *

* * *

It was well into the afternoon by the time Clarke finished dealing with her first client in court, and she had barely been back at her desk for enough time to glance at her next file before she was interrupted. 

“Wanheda,” Ontari’s voice snapped from her door, and Clarke pushed down the flash of anger at the name, “Nia wants to see you.”

She sighed and followed the woman to the elevator.

“I heard you’re dating Cage Wallace,” the other woman’s voice was dripping with disgust, “First Roan, then Cage, it’s like you’re whoring your way through the most eligible bachelors the city has to offer. Who’s next? Mendes? I hear he’s single.”

Clarke dug her nails into her palm, refusing to say a single word in response.

“It must be nice, being the daughter of Jake Griffin – so many doors just swing wide open for you, and in return, you open your legs.”

Clarke was fairly certain her hand was bleeding, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to rise to the bait. 

“But then, I hear you’ve been slumming it with trailer trash lately – mechanics and bouncers downtown. There’s even photos of you kissing some barista girl outside a club, a week before you started dating Cage. _Girls too_ , Wanheda? Is there anyone you _won’t_ open your legs to? I wonder how _those_ were leaked online?” Her voice lilted a bit at the end, something triumphant and smug in her tone.

And Clarke knew in that moment that Ontari had done it; leaked the photos of her to ruin her chances at partner, to make her life harder. If Ontari only knew just how hard her life had become as a result of those pictures. 

As the elevator reached the top floor and she stepped out, Clarke finally turned her head in Ontari’s direction, “Tell Roan I said hello. I wonder if he still thinks about my legs as much as you do?”

The doors slid shut behind her, and the last thing she saw before she walked to Nia’s office was Ontari’s livid expression.

* * *

* * *

Nia assigned her more of Dante’s cases, after she had “done such an exemplary job” with the first one, and she wanted nothing more than to turn them down. Instead, she took the stack of files down in a box, dreading the rest of her day. 

When she arrived back at her office, Octavia was sitting on her desk, a deceptively neutral expression on her face. Clarke had only seen that a few times – usually when she was about to tear someone a new asshole – and she steeled herself for the argument she was about to have. 

“Hey Clarke,” she said casually, “How’s work?”

“Fine,” Clarke said, resisting the urge to smile when she imagined Bellamy’s outstretched hand waiting for her money, “How’s your day?”

“How’s Cage?” Octavia asked, bulldozing through to what she really wanted to say. 

“I…” she busied herself walking around her desk and unpacking the box of cases, stacking them into piles, “He’s fine. Why?”

“Because when I stopped by my brother’s apartment this morning, I saw you driving away from it.”

Clarke froze. 

“Yeah, I was hanging out at his and it got late,” she bluffed, and it wasn’t really a lie, but Octavia didn’t look like she believed it anyway. 

“Look, Clarke, I really don’t care if you’re cheating on your boyfriend, because I know that you’re only together because of this ridiculous arrangement with your mother, but I don’t want you dragging my brother into this. What’s Cage going to do, if he finds out you’re sleeping with Bellamy?”

“I’m not sleeping with Bellamy, we’re just friends,” Clarke explained, and then, as if on cue, her phone screen lit up with his name. _Perfect timing, jackass,_ she thought, as Octavia glared at her. 

“Hey, what’s up?” She answered casually. 

“Clarke, I need you to promise me you’re not going to freak out,” he said, and she immediately started freaking out. 

“ _What?_ What’s wrong?”

“Nothing… well, I… I might be in hospital.”

“You’re WHAT!?” She yelled, _“What the hell happened, Bellamy?!”_

Octavia’s irritated look had morphed into one of worry, and Clarke was sure she looked equally as upset. 

“I was at work and some guys jumped me: hit me in the back of the head and beat me until I fell unconscious. They said…” he sounded reluctant to say anything, “They said it was a message from Cage.”

“Oh my god,” she gripped the edge of her desk, “I’m so sorry, Bellamy, I told you, I didn’t–”

“This is _not_ your fault,” he said sternly. 

“Of course it is! This is _all my fault_ , I can’t believe… Bellamy, I am so sorry.”

“Stop apologising,” he growled, “I’m serious, Princess, blaming yourself is pointless, and it only makes me worry about you more, which isn’t good for my recovery.”

He was trying to make her laugh, and she managed a small smile before she snapped back into action, “What hospital, where?”

Octavia’s eyes widened. 

“Ark Memorial. I’m fine, you don’t have to–”

“Too late, I’m already on my way,” she snapped, “And I’m bringing Octavia.”

She hung up on his protests and stormed down the corridor, keys in hand and Octavia hot on her heels. It wasn’t until they were both in the car and she was pulling onto the street that her friend spoke. 

“Why did he call _you?”_

Clarke was focussed on indicating, and it took her a moment for the question to register, “Hmm?”

“Why did Bellamy call you, and not me?”

Clarke swallowed as she turned the corner, “I, uh… you’ll have to ask him that.”

The rest of the journey passed in silence, Octavia fuming silently and Clarke quietly panicking as she drove. When they arrived at the hospital it took a minute or two before they found the right floor, and then it took all of Clarke’s self-control not to sprint down to his room. Finally, she found the correctly numbered door and knocked on it. 

“Go away, Clarke.” 

She rolled her eyes and walked in, and when her eyes fell on him, propped up in bed, a gasp tore through her chest. His face was bruised and there were bandages all over his arm and chest, along with neat stitches across his cheek and hairline. If it looked this bad now, she couldn’t imagine what it was like before he got cleaned up. She barely noticed Murphy sitting in the corner, and she moved immediately to Bellamy’s side, fingers ghosting over his face. 

“It’s fine, I’m okay,” he said reassuringly. 

“Don’t you dare, you are not remotely okay,” she said, and there were tears in her eyes, “I’m so- this is all my fault, I’m so sorry.”

“No, stop,” he commanded, and he caught her hands gently, pulling them into his lap and squeezing them. She knew that he noticed the grazes her own nails had made earlier, because he kept running his fingertips across them. He sighed, “Stop blaming yourself for everything, Princess. I knew what I was doing that night, I knew that Cage might retaliate.”

“So this _is_ about Cage?” Octavia’s voice cracked through the room like a whip, harsh and unforgiving, “He did this to you?”

Bellamy gazed at Clarke, questioning. She stared back helplessly, trying to communicate with only her expression that she didn’t mean to cause an argument between the siblings. His eyes softened before they flicked briefly to his sister, “Yeah, he sent some thugs to rough me up.”

“Because of Clarke,” Octavia hissed, and it wasn’t a question. 

Clarke closed her eyes, trying to think of a way to placate Octavia without dragging her into the whole mess. Cage had nearly killed Bellamy because of one punch, she didn’t want to find out how he would retaliate if Octavia did anything, and she would, if she knew what Clarke had been through. 

“Hey, Princess, you still with me?” Bellamy asked softly, and she realised that she had been on the verge of panicking again. 

She took a deep breath and opened her eyes, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I’ll add it to your tab,” he teased, and she laughed and clutched at his hands a little tighter. He was still here, he was still cracking terrible jokes, he was alive.

“Are you still going to tell me that you’re not sleeping with my brother, Clarke?” Octavia asked loudly, and Bellamy’s jaw twitched. 

“We’re not sleeping together,” Clarke said, “I told you, we’re friends.”

“Right. Because I always beat up the platonic friends of people I’m dating,” she snapped. 

“I pissed him off the other night,” Bellamy tried, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I figured he’d do something like this eventually. He’s the kind of guy that gets whatever he wants, and when he doesn’t get his way, he lashes out. He probably used his father’s name to hire those guys to attack me. It’s the kind of guy that Wallace is.”

“In that case, I don’t think Clarke should hang out with us anymore,” Octavia said decisively, “At least not while she’s dating ‘the kind of guy that Wallace is’. If he’s going to come after your friends for petty things, I don’t think you should be around us.”

“Wallace sending people to beat me up has nothing to do with Clarke.”

“It does if she’s the one bringing him into our lives, Bellamy! So I think until she’s done with this relationship, she should keep her distance. I’m getting a soda.” With that, Octavia spun on her heel and slammed the door behind her.

“That escalated quickly,” Murphy drawled from the corner. 

Bellamy sighed, “O’s just being protective–”

“She’s right,” Clarke cut him off, and he immediately started shaking his head. 

“Clarke,” he breathed. 

“No, think about it, Bellamy,” she said, but he was having none of it. 

“I have thought about it, Clarke, and I decided. It’s worth it.”

“Maybe to your self-sacrificing ass, but not to me,” and the tears finally fell from her lashes, spilling down her cheeks, “You should stay away from me.”

“Not gonna happen, Princess,” he said earnestly.

“Well seeing as you’re stuck in the hospital, I don’t see that you have any choice,” she pointed out, still crying. 

“Don’t be stupid, Clarke,” Murphy said, standing up, “For starters, the second Bellamy is discharged, he’ll be driving up to your office to check on you.”

“I’ll tell the front desk not to let him in.”

“For another thing, you know better than anyone where you’d be if it weren’t for Bellamy–”

“Murphy, _back the fuck up!”_ Bellamy growled.

Clarke wrenched her hands from his grip to clap them over her mouth, and she started backing towards the door, heart pounding in her ears. 

“Hey, Clarke, you’re okay, everything’s okay,” Bellamy said soothingly, “Take a deep breath, Clarke.”

Her hands slipped off her mouth and she folded her arms over herself, as though trying to occupy the smallest amount of space she possibly could, “Keep yourself safe, Bellamy. You too Murphy. Just… Please. For your own safety, stay away from me.”

She opened the door to leave and he called her name but she was practically jogging away, and she almost barrelled Octavia over, but she didn’t care because she just needed to get out of there.

Cage had won. 

He had broken her and now he had come for the people she cared about. 

She had to keep them safe. 

She had to cut herself off from everyone she loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with this story - I thoroughly enjoy writing it, and I'm so excited every time I see a new comment on it <3
> 
> You're all lovely and I hope your days are filled with only good things.


	10. I Bear It So They Don't Have To

Clarke had barely slept.

In fact, she hadn’t even left her office in days. She had worked through the night once she returned to work on Thursday, and then Friday vanished into Saturday and suddenly it was Sunday afternoon and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen the sky. 

“Wanheda,” Ontari barked from her door, and it made her jump almost out of her skin. 

“What do you want?” She snapped back, hunched over her desk, pen in her mouth as she scanned down the latest casefile she’d picked up from Nia. 

“Nia wants the Tsing file by tomorrow,” she said, and then, “You look terrible.”

 _“Thanks_ , Ontari. Get out of my office,” Clarke grumbled, and the other woman flipped her the bird as she left. 

Her phone pinged again, but she didn’t look at it. She knew who it would be, and she couldn’t bring herself to tell him to leave her alone, because she didn’t want him to. She wanted to spend her time with Bellamy, poking fun at him and asking him about history while he did something stupidly nice like make her hot chocolate without needing to be asked. But she couldn’t. 

He’d been texting her since Thursday, and initially, she had read every message as it arrived, but in the end she had to stop, because it was too tempting to reply.

> **BELLAMY 5:07pm:**  
>  _Clarke, please think about this._
> 
> **BELLAMY 5:09pm:**  
>  _I know you’re worried about people getting hurt, but I don’t care about getting hurt, as long as you’re okay._
> 
> **BELLAMY 7:36pm:**  
>  _Can you at least respond so I know you’re alright, and not injured somewhere?_
> 
> **BELLAMY 7:49pm:**  
>  _I’ll send Murphy up there._
> 
> **BELLAMY 8:01pm:**  
>  _Please?_
> 
> **BELLAMY 8:03pm:**  
>  _Clarke, c’mon._
> 
> **BELLAMY 9:15pm:**  
>  _Clarke?_  
> 

Once she realised he hadn’t made good on his threat to send Murphy to check on her, she just ignored him. She had to, to stop herself picking up the phone and calling him. And it wasn’t just Bellamy – Raven, Emori, Jasper, Monty and Lexa were all texting her, and she just couldn’t deal with it. Murphy was the only person respecting her wishes, and she loved him for it, because he had always known her better than anyone except Wells, and it helped that someone understood. So her phone stayed in her desk drawer, hooked up to the charger while she took work calls on her office phone and tried to ignore the rush of emotions she felt every time she heard the muffled ping.

By the time Sunday rolled around, they had become less frequent, and she hoped that maybe he was giving up. 

She hadn’t seen her mother on Saturday either. She called her on Friday night to tell her she wasn’t going, and Abby had seemed distracted anyway, judging by the unmistakable voice of Marcus Kane asking her something faintly in the background, so she had agreed. 

The only other living soul she’d actually seen in person was Ontari, and that had only been when Nia needed something and sent her down. Clarke was worried, and alone, and she had never been so tired in her life.

So of course, that was when Raven visited. 

“Hey stranger. I know, you’re surprised to see me, because Octavia decreed that we weren’t allowed to see you anymore, but funnily enough, I don’t take orders from the youngest Blake. Or the oldest Blake… or _anyone_ , for that matter,” she said as she perched on the edge of the desk like the bird her namesake implied. 

“Hey Rae, how are you?” Clarke mumbled, rubbing her eyes. 

“Better than you, apparently; when was the last time you got any rest?” 

“That depends, when was Wednesday?” Clarke sighed. 

Raven frowned disapprovingly, “That’s not healthy, Clarke, you should know better.”

“I should know better about a lot of things,” she muttered, sitting up straighter in an effort to wake her brain up. 

“You mean banging Bellamy?” Raven asked casually. 

“No, Raven, god!” Clarke ran her hands through her hair distractedly, trying to work out some of the days-old knots with her fingers, “I am _not_ sleeping with Bellamy.”

“That’s not what Octavia said.”

“Octavia doesn’t know what she’s talking about. At the moment, I’m not even _talking_ to Bellamy.”

“Oh, I know. I went to visit him at home yesterday and you were all he talked about. Ranting and raving about how inconsiderate it was that you wouldn’t even return one text, just to tell him that you were still alive. It would be cute, if it wasn’t so annoying. And Octavia came back from the hospital on Thursday in a foul mood, blaming Bellamy’s injuries on you, because apparently Cage is the one who sent those guys to beat him up, but Bellamy won’t tell me why. You’re really sticking to this story about not banging?”

“I have never once had sex with Bellamy Blake. Unlike you,” Clarke grumbled, feeling an uncharacteristic twinge of jealousy.

Realisation crossed Raven’s face, “Ah, I see. You _want_ to bang Bellamy.”

Clarke winced, “No, I just… it’s complicated.”

“Why? You like him, he likes you – just fuck. It’s actually how human beings have been doing things for millennia, since the inception of humanity; you’re not special.”

“Look, I like Bellamy, I’m glad we’re friends now, and maybe there’s a small part of me that wants to jump his bones, but I can’t.”

“What, because of the friendship? Cause I banged Bellamy, and we're fine. Or is it because of Cage? Or Lexa? So you wait two months, what’s the big deal?”

Clarke rubbed her forehead distractedly, “It’s not that easy, Raven.”

“Is it because of Octavia? Cause she’ll get over it eventually.”

“No, Rae, it’s because everyone who gets close to me gets hurt!” Clarke snapped, biting her tongue too late to stop the harsh words. They seemed to bounce around the office in the silence afterwards, swelling to fill the space as Raven took them in. Once she did, she slid off the desk and tapped Clarke on the temples, and it took all of Clarke’s remaining energy not to flinch away. 

“That’s not true, Clarke. Correlation does not equal causation, and you know it. You’re just scared of opening up in case you get hurt,” and with that, she walked back towards the door, as if she didn’t just unintentionally crack open a giant wound in Clarke’s heart. 

“Is he okay?” Clarke said, her voice sounding too small for such a loaded question. 

Raven smiled, “Aside from being insanely worried about _you_ for reasons I can’t fathom, yeah, Bellamy’s fine. Cage’s thugs ran off the second Murphy arrived, and most of his injuries were pretty surface level. He was discharged yesterday, and he’s on bedrest, but he probably won’t stay there long. He gets too restless. He probably won’t even scar.”

“Good,” Clarke breathed, not realising just how tense she’d been until some of it lifted from her shoulders. 

“Look, just talk to each other. You’re both clearly miserable without each other, whether you want to fuck or not. For the sake of yourselves, and my sanity, seeing as _I’m_ the main person that both of you run to when Octavia’s mad, just talk to each other.”

“Thanks, Rae,” Clarke muttered, turning her attention back to the stack of casefiles in front of her. 

“And Clarke? Get some sleep,” she said, before closing the door behind her as she left.

* * *

* * *

Cage stopped by on Monday for another lunch date, and Clarke was running on two hours sleep and eight coffees, so she was very much not in the mood to put up with his false charisma and roaming hands. 

They were sitting in the public eating area on her floor again, and she was trying to ignore the giggles of the two women sitting by the door while she pretended to like a man she despised. 

“How’s work? I heard my father asked for more of his cases to run through you,” Cage said genially, “That’s a high honour, coming from him.”

“Is it?” Clarke asked disinterestedly, trying to focus. 

“And your mother seems to be doing well,” he continued, “Although from what she tells me, I’m seeing more of her than you.”

“Mhm,” she nodded absentmindedly, barely listening as she pushed another fork of food past her lips. She wasn’t hungry but she wanted this lunch to be over as soon as possible. 

“I also heard what happened to your friend,” Cage said, and now there was a smug curve to his smile, “Is he out of hospital yet?”

All of a sudden, Clarke was wide awake, and she was furious, crossing her arms as she squared up to him. She rammed her fingernails into her forearm and tried very hard to refrain from stabbing her fork through his eye. She took a breath, shallower than she wanted, but at least she was still breathing, “Don’t talk about him.”

“What, I’m not allowed to be concerned about your friends?” He was openly grinning at her now, and she had never hated someone so much in her life. 

“Not when _you’re_ the person who put him in the hospital, Cage,” she hissed, trying to keep the fake smile on her face so the other people in the room didn’t know they were fighting. 

“Well he shouldn’t have thrown the first punch if he wasn’t prepared for retaliation,” he said slyly, as though they were sharing some kind of twisted in-joke, and she finally couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Right, well I’ll see you on Wednesday night – we’re going to a baseball game,” she said, and stood to leave, but he caught her wrist. 

“You better live up to your end of this deal, Clarke. You better be the model girlfriend for the next two months–”

 _“Six weeks.”_ She interjected.

“–because Bellamy isn’t your only weakness.” He said quietly, and she swallowed, refusing to answer. She tried to pull her expression back from fear to something like flirtatious, barely remembering to place an ostentatious kiss on his forehead as she spun from the room. 

She hated him, and the situation she was in, and everything about it, but mostly she just hated herself. The hatred felt like fire, burning from her head to her toes, and she let it consume her as she walked past Octavia’s desk and caught the death stare being sent her way. She let it blaze under her skin because she was certain she deserved it.

* * *

* * *

Her week only got worse. Her workload was becoming insane, and she stopped even trying to leave her office. She set up a blanket on her couch in the corner and retreated to it in the early hours of every morning, sleeping for a few hours at a time before she got up and started the cycle all over again. On days when she had to be in court she added extra make-up and made sure she was presentable, and if anything, her exhaustion made her a better lawyer. She was no longer worried about saying the right thing; she didn’t have time to worry about mincing her words, because her brain only supplied her with what was absolutely necessary. 

Her pocket universe had shrunk so much that it was almost hard to breathe – the walls were pressed in on her and the only thing keeping them from closing in and crushing her entirely was the tiny remaining bit of hope she had that one day this would be over. That she would be free. 

Wednesday was painful, but they were more public than they had ever been, and Cage didn’t try anything except holding her hand, which was uncomfortable, but she bore it; because she had to, and because there were cameras present.

She had cancelled lunch with her mother again, making it a month since she had last seen Abby’s face, but Abby didn’t even seem concerned, too busy with her own work, and maybe her own love life. 

So Saturday rolled slowly into Sunday, which curled lazily into yet another Monday, and she tried to remember the last time she felt okay. It was probably that Thursday night at Bellamy’s, laughing and poking fun at each other– _No. I cannot think about that right now,_ she thought, irritated at herself. 

Then, like he was goddamn Beetlejuice, Bellamy appeared in her doorway. He looked annoyed, and out of breath, but Raven was right – he already looked a lot better. There were clean bandages poking out from under his sleeve and the ones covering the stitches on his face were smaller, less obvious than the last time she’d seen him. 

“What the _hell_ is wrong with you?!” He panted irritably. 

“What are you doing here?” She tried to keep her voice level, but all she wanted to do was leap over her desk and hug him. 

“No, you don’t get to do what you did and then play coy with me!” He snapped. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she returned her attention to the open book in front of her and hoped he’d get the hint. He didn’t. 

_“No?_ So you didn’t _pay my hospital bill?”_ He asked, accusing.

She froze. 

“Because from what I can tell, you’re not my friend anymore, or anyone’s – you won’t even talk to _Jasper_ – and no-one’s seen you in a week and a half except Raven, who said you looked awful, but I wouldn’t know that, because you’ve just shut me out completely. You got scared and you ran away. So then why, for the love of god, did you pay my hospital bill? Was it just some misguided sense of guilt? Because I don’t need your charity, _Princess_ ,” and for the first time in a while, the nickname actual held some level of scorn as he spat it at her. 

She tried to pretend she was still ignoring him, but her hands were shaking and she just wanted to look up and make sure he was okay. 

“Are you seriously mad at me for paying your bills?” She asked incredulously. She had thought she was doing something nice – the only thing she felt she could do in the moment – she should have realised that he wouldn’t take well to her using her money to help him. 

“No!” He yelled, “I’m mad at you for putting everyone else’s safety above yours! What if he’d done something to you? What if he hurt you again?”

“He didn’t,” she murmured. 

“But he might have! And you were so busy trying to keep _me_ safe that you didn’t think about _yourself_. I don’t need your _protection_ , Princess!”

“Awfully sexist of you to assume I need yours!” She finally snapped her gaze up to his face as she stood up and glared at him over her desk. She couldn’t help it. His anger didn’t make her cower like Cage’s; when Bellamy bit at her, it made her want to bite back.

“It’s not because you’re a woman, it’s because I _care_ about you, and you _know_ that!”

Her lips were still parted, ready to retort, but the words died in her throat as she stared at him in surprise. His eyes crinkled in the corners, the way they always did when he was worried, and he stepped around the desk a little, moving closer to her. 

“Clarke, I just… I was _so worried_ ,” he said softly. 

And for some reason, that was enough to break her resolve. Without wasting a second, she was throwing her arms around his shoulders and burying her face in the crook of his neck, gripping him as tight as she could without hurting him. He nosed against her skin, burrowing into her hair as he held her as though he never wanted to do anything else. She could feel his hands through the fabric of her shirt, resting at her waist, and _god, it was so amazing to be touched again_. She had no idea how much she had missed it until she felt it again; Bellamy’s warm, muscular frame against hers, waking up the part of her she’d been trying to ignore. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, when they finally pulled away. She sat on the edge of her desk and he slumped down beside her, pulling her right hand into his lap and playing idly with her fingers. She stared pointedly at the ground, “It’s been so long since I cared about anyone, Bellamy. I was so alone for… for so long. I loved my father, and Wells, more than anything in the world, and I lost them, and then I was alone. It was easier to be alone again temporarily that it would be to see one of my friends get hurt because of something I did. I… I just can’t lose you too.”

He sighed and draped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close, “I know, Clarke, but I’m not going anywhere.”

She nodded silently.

“Look, I understand that you want to keep everyone else out of it, keep them safe, I get that. I do. So I’m not going to argue with you about them. But Murphy and Emori are already in it, so they won’t go away just because you don’t leave your office or check your messages, and you’ve got no chance in hell of getting rid of me, Princess.”

She managed a small smile, “I know.” 

“Good, because I brought lunch,” he said, and leaned down to pick up a bag of food where he’d dropped it on the ground in his annoyance, “And we’re not eating it in your office, because you’ve spent far too much time here.”

“Fine,” she grouched, smiling wider, “I know a place we can go.”

He followed her to the elevator and then up the small flight of stairs to the roof, and beamed excitedly when he saw the garden up there. 

“Are you kidding me? No-one comes up here?” He asked, astonished. 

“Most people who work in this building either eat lunch in their offices because they’re workaholics, or they each in the lunchroom because they’re gossips. The only people who come up here are the ones who want to be alone while they take a break. So… basically just me and O. Every now and then I see Roan up here, but he’s usually avoiding his mother or Ontari.”

“Excellent,” his grin was contagious, and as they sat down on one of the benches together, dividing up the food, she was suddenly struck with the memory of doing similar things with Wells at school – just the two of them against the world. This was different somehow, though… because _Bellamy_ was different. 

“Bellamy, what the hell are you doing here?” Octavia appeared in front of them, irritation cutting into her features, making her already fierce beauty into something truly fearsome. 

Clarke stiffened, but Bellamy leaned back against the bench and looked up at his sister defiantly, “Having lunch with Clarke…?”

“Why?” 

“Because she’s my friend,” he said, like it was obvious. 

Octavia bristled, “A friend who almost got you killed.”

“No, she didn’t,” Bellamy said slowly, and Clarke dug her nails into her palm. 

“Yes, she–”

“Clarke is my friend, and the last time I checked, you don’t control who I hang out with.”

“I just think–”

 _“I don’t care,”_ Bellamy growled, ire rising. 

“Okay, we don’t have to fight about this,” Clarke tried, ever the peacemaker. 

“Oh I think we do,” Octavia said menacingly as she rounded on her, “I thought you were going to keep your distance?”

“I am. I told everyone I need space, I’m dodging everyone’s calls, and I haven’t been out or met up with anyone since you suggested I leave you all alone. I’m not putting anyone in the Wallaces’ sights – you were right, and I’m not risking it.”

“But you’re willing to risk my brother,” she hissed.

“That’s _enough_. I stormed into her office demanding to know why she wouldn’t talk to me and she _still_ tried to make me leave. She followed your stupid instructions; _I’m_ the one who didn’t. You don’t get to take your fears out on Clarke, O. She’s not an emotional punching back. For anyone.” The last part was directed more at Clarke than anything, and she aimed a half-smile in his direction. 

“Since when are you and the _Princess_ best friends?” Octavia asked incredulously, and it was like a slap in the face. Octavia had _always_ given Clarke the benefit of the doubt, even when Bellamy hadn’t. She had never called her that, not ever. But clearly that was over – Clarke was one of _them_ now: the rich, the elite, _the enemy._

Bellamy huffed a frustrated breath out through his nose, “Since I… since I took her back to your place after her… accident. She started coming over a lot after that, and we like a lot of the same things, once we get past how annoying we find each other.”

He looked to Clarke for confirmation that he’d said the right thing, but she was staring down at her fist on her thigh, focussing on the pain. He leaned closer, but she shook her head, trying to wordlessly tell him she was fine. 

“You’re both going to sit there and continue to lie to me? Unbelievable! I would be less mad if you just told me the truth and admitted you’re sleeping together.”

“We’re not.” Clarke murmured.

“Well why else would Cage Wallace attack my brother?!”

“Leave it alone, O!” Bellamy snapped, and his sister took a step back in surprise, but he wasn’t looking at her. He reached for Clarke’s fist on her thigh and turned it over, flattening it, like he had that night at her apartment, and she could feel his fingertips stroking against the red marks on her skin gently. He frowned at her, “It’s not your fault, Clarke.”

“I didn’t say anything,” she protested weakly. 

“You only ever do that when you’re doing that self-loathing thing you do,” he pointed out, brushing the little crescents on her palm, and she stared at him, shocked that he could see through her so easily. He shrugged, “It’s easy to recognise self-hatred when you feel it too, Princess.”

“I’m fine, Bellamy,” she folded her fingers over his, squeezing them briefly.

“Really? When was the last time you left your office?” He quirked an eyebrow at her. 

“I don’t know, when did you end up in hospital?” She shot back. 

He drew in a sharp breath, but his eyes were soft and sympathetic, “Clarke… you _can’t_ … you’ve got to start thinking about yourself more, you can’t keep doing stuff like that.”

“I don’t know, I’d say she thinks about herself enough,” Octavia butted in, suddenly reminding them that she was still standing there, as both of them had become so immersed in each other’s eyes they’d almost forgotten. Octavia crossed her arms, “She’s dating the son of a crime boss and suddenly she gets given all of the important cases she needs to make partner; she has an accident outside a club and suddenly she has you falling all over yourself to make sure she’s alright; her boyfriend puts you in the _hospital_ and you immediately jump back into bed with her like it’s nothing – I’d say her life is pretty peachy.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bellamy said steadily, but Clarke could see the anger rolling through him, the thunder echoing behind his gaze. 

“No, I guess not.” Octavia snapped, and stormed away, slamming the door behind her as she stomped down the stairs.

Clarke watched her go resignedly, but Bellamy looked annoyed, and she squeezed his hand again, “She can be as angry as she wants for now Bellamy, as long as she’s not getting in Cage’s face.”

“She was horrible to you,” he sighed, stroking her hair out of her eyes and searching her face for signs of distress, but she was calmer now. 

“If it keeps her safe…” Clarke trailed off, pressing her lips together. She leaned against his shoulder and murmured, “I bear it so they don’t have to.”

“Why does it have to be you?” He asked softly, “I’m not letting you do this alone.”

She turned her head slightly, and pressed her lips into his arm, not kissing him, just resting them there, “I’ve always been alone.”

“Not anymore,” there was a determined edge to his voice and he scooped an arm around her, drawing her closer as he kissed the top of her head, casually, like it was something they always did, “You can’t do this alone, Clarke. I’m _right here_. He’s going to pay for what he did to you, I promise.”

She tilted her head up to see his eyes, creasing concernedly in the corners as he looked down at her with that compassionate look that overwhelmed her. She nodded into his shoulder, “You’ll help me take down Cage? Together?”

He smiled, “Together.”


	11. You're Infuriating, You Know That?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke pines, Bellamy worries, Raven rolls her eyes at them and Murphy meddles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Set The Dark On Fire sort of took over my life for a hot minute, but I'm back to this now, and I should be back to weekly updates. Yay! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it <3

After Octavia’s blow-up on Monday, Bellamy had been avoiding her. They hadn’t spoken in days, and he was starting to get antsy, Clarke could see it. 

Octavia had been his whole life for so long; growing up he’d been raising her practically since the day she was born – a six-year-old parenting a baby - and he didn't seem to know what to do without her around. It was a lot of responsibility forced on a kid so young, and now that they were friends, Clarke could see why he would come off so aggressive when she first met him. She also realised just how offensive her wealth was to him, but she knew it wasn’t really the wealth of others as much as his lack of it that was so grating. He had struggled for years to put food on the table, barely graduated high school and then got an apprenticeship at a garage to put Octavia through college, only for her to get a job at the cushiest law firm in Polis, as a secretary. Octavia was easily as smart as the lawyers in there, but with only a business degree she was lucky to get that job, and she really appreciated it. Bellamy knew that, rationally, but Clarke understood why it must have irritated him so much when Octavia came home from work one afternoon gushing about her new friend. Clarke was from uptown, which meant she would never understand what their lives were like, or where they came from, and when they first met, Clarke had to admit she hadn’t exactly been friendly either. She’d never been good at making friends. 

Bellamy, Murphy and Emori were the only ones she felt she had, at least for the next month, and they were being far too kind to her. She didn’t go out on Friday with the others, so she spent it with Bellamy; she over-worked, so Murphy turned up at her office with lunch; she didn’t go to lunches with her mother anymore, so Emori kept inviting her and Bellamy around to their place on Sundays, since Clarke was so busy on Saturdays now. It was sweet of them, and some days, it was the only thing keeping her from drowning in her own head. 

But Clarke was spending every night at Bellamy’s, curled up on his couch, and she could see him getting twitchy from lack of contact with his sister. She felt awful – it was her fault they weren’t speaking, and she didn’t know how to fix things. Her only suggestion had been that he stop talking to her but obviously Bellamy had vehemently argued against that, saying that no matter what happened with Octavia, he wasn’t abandoning Clarke. Which had really made that frustrating attraction she had to him flare up again. The second those words had slipped from his lips, she wanted nothing more than to kiss them, and it had taken all her strength not to let her eyes drop, because she knew he would notice if she did. 

Instead, they just kept sitting side by side on his couch every night, arguing about movie trivia: Clarke avoiding her desire to kiss him until she forgot her own name, and Bellamy refusing to mention his sister. 

Friday marked exactly a month since Cage had assaulted her, but neither of them talked about it. It hung in the air between them when she arrived at his place after work, but he didn’t bring it up, and she just wanted a distraction from the ghost of vicious hands on her. He seemed to be aware, taking extra care not to jostle her when he heated up leftovers, and when they sat on the couch, he made sure not to sit right next to her, which she was thankful for. They ended up watching Scrubs, and it didn’t take long for her to shift until she had her legs stretched out across the couch, taking up all the available room. He shot her a look and shoved her legs down with a smirk. So of course she lifted them back up and started kicking him gently, just to bother him. He retaliated by catching her feet, and she gave up, resting them in his lap while he rubbed her arches absentmindedly, occasionally tickling her by accident, and she was trying not to think about how perfect it felt. 

“You should call her,” she blurted out. 

He frowned, keeping his gaze on the TV, “Nope.”

“Why not?” 

He sighed, pausing it, but he didn’t look at her, “Because she’s just… she’s not thinking clearly, and she’s taking it out on you, and that’s not fair.”

“It’s also not fair that my drama has ruined things with your sister, Bellamy,” she pointed out. 

“What’s not _fair_ is that Cage is still out there walking around, you’ve got nothing to do with it. Stop blaming yourself,” he grumbled.

She poked him in the chest with her toe, “I’ll stop blaming myself when you do.”

He did look at her then, his head tilting in her direction, expression unreadable, “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“I do,” she said proudly, kicking at him again, and he snorted, tugging on her ankle and dragging her forward until she was next to him, practically in his lap. Her legs were over his, and one of his arms draped around her shoulder, and every where he touched her felt electric. He was still looking at her, that odd expression on his face, and she felt something twinge in her chest. Her lips parted, and she searched his eyes for an answer to a question she hadn’t asked, lust flickering through her when his thumb stroked across her knee.

 _I just want to sleep with someone, and Bellamy’s the closest. It’s nothing to do with him, I just need to get laid,_ she told herself. 

To stop herself from gazing at him, she dropped her head to his shoulder and twisted slightly so that she could see the TV without getting a crick in her neck, “You don’t have to talk to O, I’m not gonna force it, I just… I don’t like seeing you so miserable.”

He huffed as he pressed play, squeezing her shoulder, “I’m not miserable, Clarke, I promise.”

The rest of the night passed without comment, the two of them wrapped up in their problems and each other as they watched the TV, neither of them really paying any attention to the drama unfolding onscreen.

* * *

* * *

On Saturday her court case finished early, and she had long since clocked enough billable hours for that week, so she decided to do something she’d never done before. 

Instead of going back to the office after she left the courthouse, she drove to Bellamy’s work. 

It wasn’t that far from his place; most days he either walked or jogged, and he only ever drove if he had to be somewhere afterwards. She hoped he had done that today. When she arrived, parking her car across the road, she saw Raven leaning over the open hood of a car looking unfairly gorgeous even when covered in grease and smelling like an engine. Raven glanced up as she approached, a grin forming. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” She laughed, clapping her on the shoulder. Neither of them were usually the hugging type, but especially not when Raven was dirty and Clarke was wearing a white blouse. 

“I, um…” Clarke winced, “I came to see Bellamy.”

Raven rolled her eyes good-naturedly and they leaned against the car she was working on, “Of course you did.”

“Obviously I want to see you too,” she said quickly, and she meant it, “But Octavia's right, I probably shouldn't be around you guys until this stuff with the Wallaces is over. Actually, I thought Bellamy was the only one who worked Saturdays; I figured you got them off. But he’s been having a hard week, so I thought I’d surprise him.”

Her friend frowned, “What you do mean, _hard week?”_

“Uh,” it suddenly occurred to Clarke that Bellamy might not have told her about Octavia’s behaviour, because he was friends with Raven, but she would always be Octavia’s friend first. He probably didn’t want to put her in the middle of it. And Octavia probably hadn’t told her about it for a similar reason; neither she nor Bellamy would want to make Raven choose a side, and Clarke wasn’t about to either. She was about to respond when the man himself rounded the corner, wiping his hands with a rag.

When he glanced up and saw her, he froze, and the cloth slipped from his fingers. 

_“Clarke?_ What are you doing here?” He asked, and then, trying to cover his shock, “It’s daylight; I didn’t think you were allowed to leave the office before the stroke of midnight.”

She grinned and stepped into his arms, which had automatically reached for her, and he folded them around her. 

“Court finished early, I thought I’d come down and see you.”

“Naturally,” he said sceptically. Something seemed to occur to him and he went rigid, straightening hurriedly. He held her at arms-length, eyes boring into hers, and she could see the panic in them, “Are you okay, did something happen, is it–”

“Oh my god, Bellamy, slow down, I’m fine, everything’s fine,” she reassured him, “I really did just want to see you.”

Whatever he had been about to say died in his throat, and he stared at her with that same infuriatingly unreadable expression from the night before. She felt suddenly exposed, like he could see what she was thinking, and she fidgeted under his gaze. He snapped out of it, sliding his hands down her arm to her wrists, “I finish in ten minutes; you wanna wait around?”

“Don’t bother, Blake, go spend time with your girlfriend,” a man called out from the office at the back of the garage, his head poking out the door. Clarke turned to face him and Bellamy dropped one of his arms into his pocket casually, but the other stayed on her wrist, fingers touching her palm, and she thought maybe he might be checking for nail marks, of which there were none. Their boss looked friendly, and he glanced between the three of them, “Reyes and I have got this.”

Bellamy slumped against the car door, “She’s not my–”

“Whatever she is; girlfriend, wife, platonic life partner, lesbian spirit guide, I don’t care; you look happier than I’ve seen you in weeks. Go take a break, you need it.”

“I really don’t mind waiting,” Clarke tried. 

“Clarke, you never take afternoons off, take the man and run,” Raven elbowed her. 

The smiling man properly emerged from his office, “Wait, you’re Clarke? The elusive best friend of Blake and Reyes?”

Clarke blinked. She loved her friends more than anything, but she never for a second thought that they might think of her in the same way. They had all known each other way longer than she had been in their lives, so she just expected that she ranked somewhere above acquaintance and below ‘friend you invite to family Christmas’. But their boss said _best friend_ and it threw her off. 

“Um, yeah, I guess,” she stuttered, and Bellamy squeezed her hand soothingly, alerting her to the fact that he still hadn’t let go of it. So maybe he realised she was anxious. Or maybe he just wanted to be holding her hand. 

“I’m Jacapo Sinclair, their boss. It’s so nice to meet you!” Sinclair strode forward and before she could think about it, he’d drawn her into a friendly hug. She stiffened at the sudden rush of terror through her veins, and counted backwards from ten in her head, trying to remember to breathe. It wasn’t his fault, he was probably just a physical person, and if they’d met before everything with Cage, Clarke was certain she would have taken it as the amiable gesture it was meant as. Yet now her heart was thrumming in her ears and she was desperately searching for something, _anything_ to think of other than Cage’s forearm on her neck and his weight pushing her into the wall. 

When Sinclair released her and stepped back, beaming, she managed a small smile, but she couldn’t seem to get her bearings, and she found herself unconsciously reaching for Bellamy again. 

Bellamy noticed her swaying and he could tell something was wrong, so he took the outstretched hand, pulling her closer until she was standing in front of him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, which to the other two would just make them look like a couple, but he was really keeping her up, stopping her from collapsing to the ground in panic. 

Sinclair was talking, but she couldn’t really hear it, and she tried to anchor herself with the feeling of Bellamy’s forearms against her stomach; holding her together. 

He tucked his chin against her shoulder, and his nose grazed her ear when he murmured, “You good?”

She tried to formulate a reply, but her breath caught in her throat and that seemed to be enough of an answer for him. 

He turned her around in his arms, not caring that Sinclair and Raven were watching them, so that he could bring one hand up and brush the hair from her face, “hey, hey, you’re okay.”

She shook her head, “I _can’t–”_

“I’m right here, you’re okay, you’re alright,” he said, hand splaying across her back to stop her moving away, but not so tight that she couldn’t if she wanted to. 

Sinclair trailed off, and Raven cut in, “Hey, is she…?”

“She just needs to take a breath,” Bellamy replied, glancing briefly over Clarke’s shoulder to reassure the two mechanics, who she assumed must have been staring at her.

She felt burning tears of shame working their way towards her lashes, and she closed her eyes to stop them falling, “It’s just so stupid, Bellamy, it’s so– I don’t know how to do this.”

“Okay, it’s okay,” his hand stilled on her cheek, “you don’t have to be okay right now, it’s alright. You’re allowed to be a mess.”

“I’ve never been allowed to be a mess,” she admitted, and the tears slipped from her eyes despite her best efforts to keep them contained, so she gave in and just looked up at Bellamy. He was regarding her empathetically and it filled her with a sense of calm and cooled the burning around her heart. She took a few deep breaths and tried to shrug it off, “I’m fine, I just–”

“Nearly had a panic attack?” He quipped, raising an eyebrow, and she laughed and hit him in the chest lightly. He sighed, relieved, “You’re alright, Princess.” 

“Do you need a glass of water or something?” Sinclair asked, concerned. Clarke blushed; she’d almost forgotten they were there, and she shook her head, smiling politely as she returned to her place leaning against the car, but Bellamy left his fingers hanging loosely around her wrist, grounding her.

Raven flicked her arm and mouthed, _“you sure?”_ and she just shrugged. 

“She’s fine.” Bellamy thanked them both before he turned to Clarke, “speaking of: you owe me ten dollars.”

_“Ten?”_

“You said it twice, I don’t make the rules.”

“Yes you do, you _literally made the rule_ , I didn’t even agree to it, you just decreed it like some kind of rogue judge, taking the law into your own dirty, greasy hands,” she grouched, and something flashed behind his eyes. She realised too late what she’d said and immediately made a break for it, but he snaked an arm around her waist to hold her still. Honestly, she wasn’t really trying to escape. She liked it when Bellamy was trying to have fun, and she was willing to play along, but that didn't mean she wanted dirt on her white blouse. “No, no, Bellamy, don’t.”

He grinned, as she tried and failed to extricate herself from his arms, and he stretched around her and swiped his hand across the open engine. It came back covered in dark smudges and he waved it at her, leaning her over the engine as he did, so that his hand was hovering at her side and the dirty engine was beneath her. 

“Ten dollars,” he bargained, “and I won’t ruin your fancy clothes.”

“How about you just stop extorting money from me, like a _good_ friend?” She complained, pushing at his chest.

He scoffed, “Please, all friendships _are_ is just stealing money from each other and being interested in similar things.”

“Right, so our friendship must be perfect then,” she snarked, and in retaliation, he moved his hand closer to her sleeve. She yelped and twisted to avoid it, prompting a smug grin to creep across his face.

“Yep, pretty perfect,” he teased, and he moved his hand as close as possible without touching her before releasing her and wiping his dirty palm on his jeans. 

“You’re an ass,” she grumbled, tucking her shirt back into her pants. 

“And you feel better,” he pointed out, flashing a teasing smirk to hide the genuine intentions behind the statement, “so I’d say I’m a perfect friend, whether I’m an ass or not.”

She blinked. She hadn’t even noticed the squirrelly feeling in her stomach fading while he distracted her, and she wondered when exactly it had disappeared.

“Oh,” she said, self-conscious, “Yeah. Thanks.”

He reached for her, pulling her closer so he could drop a kiss to the crown of her head, “Don’t mention it, Princess.”

“Wow, I really cannot imagine where Octavia got the idea that you two might be sleeping together,” Raven said sarcastically, and Clarke reached out blindly to smack her. 

“They’re not?” Sinclair asked, confused, and Raven cackled with laughter. 

Clarke flushed pink and buried her head even further in Bellamy’s chest, which only made him laugh too. 

“I hate all of you,” she groaned, poking Bellamy in the ribs, “and you, stop encouraging them.”

“Honestly, I gave up: even Murphy thinks we should. He gave me a very aggressive speech about not hurting you and then gave me a pep talk about getting into your pants,” he said.

She pulled away, looking horrified, “Oh god, I’m going to kill him, he _knows_ why we’re not, I’m going to strangle him to death and then he’ll be sorry he ever met me, I can’t believe my oldest friend is such a dick, I’m going to murder him–”

“Whoa, Princess, simmer down, you don’t have to resort to felonies,” he paused, “you can just punch him or something.”

She snorted. 

“What do you mean Murphy knows why you’re not sleeping together?” Raven asked, curious. 

Clarke shared a look with Bellamy, “Nothing, bye Raven. It was nice to meet you Sinclair.”

“Don’t be a stranger, Clarke,” he smiled at her, waving, and as she dragged Bellamy to her car, she caught him nudging Raven conspiratorially. They were going to gossip about them as soon as they were out of sight, she knew it, and Clarke slumped, releasing Bellamy so that she could climb into the driver’s seat. 

He sat down next to her, his polite façade dropping the second they’d rounded the corner. He openly stared at her, worry etched into his features. 

“What was that?” He asked softly. 

She made a show of switching radio stations, “I panicked.”

“Yeah, when someone hugged you.”

“Yep.” She said it casually, but he knew her better than that, and his hand came to rest over hers on the center console, stopping her nervous fiddling. 

“Are you alright?”

“I’m _great_ , stop worrying,” and it came out harsher than she meant it to, but it didn’t sway him.

“Has that happened before?” His eyes were boring into the side of her face and she tried to refocus her concentration on the red traffic light in front of her.

She suppressed a wince, “Once or twice.”

He withdrew his hand immediately, “Has it happened with me?”

She whipped her head around, “Oh my god, _no_ , Bellamy, of course not!”

“You can tell me if it has, I won’t be offended,” he said softly, and the second the light turned green she accelerated around the corner. She found a side street and parked next to the curb. 

Clarke switched the engine off and grabbed at his hands, “Bellamy _I promise you_ , you haven’t done anything wrong.”

He wouldn’t meet her eyes, staring down at their intertwined fingers, “The only reason I can think of that you wouldn’t tell me you were having panic attacks from being touched is if I was causing them too.”

“No, that’s not it, it’s…” she pressed her forehead against his shoulder briefly, “I just didn’t want to give you another reason to worry about me. I’m sorry, I… this all got messed up, it was supposed to be a nice surprise to make _you_ feel better, and then you ended up comforting me and now you feel worse. I’m sorry. I should have told you about the panicking.”

He shook his head, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Clarke, I just can’t bear the thought that I might be hurting you.”

“You’re not, _of course_ you’re not; you’re the _only_ person who can touch me without triggering something bad.”

His head jerked up at that, “Wha- really?”

“Yeah,” her voice sounded small, and she fought the urge to look at his lips when he wet them, “Everyone else, even Raven and Murphy, and Emori, I have to be mentally prepared for them to touch me so that I don’t freak out, but with you… it’s easy.”

“Why?” He didn’t look convinced, and honestly, she couldn’t blame him. 

“I _trust_ you,” she said, and she’d never meant anything so earnestly in her life. “I know you’d never hurt me, and you’re my friend, and I… it’s been years since I trusted anyone as much as you.”

She didn’t say his name, didn’t have to; Bellamy knew that she was thinking about Wells. 

_“Clarke,”_ he breathed, staring at her with something alarmingly close to wonder, and she resisted the urge to unbuckle her seatbelt, climb into his lap and grind on him until he panted into her mouth. She shoved the thought away, trying to keep her face straight as she sat back in her seat, turning the key in the ignition and pulling back onto the road. 

She left her other hand in Bellamy’s though, and pretended not to notice him rolling her fingers between his, occasionally glancing up at her to make sure she was alright. 

Her heart was doing that erratic thumping thing again, and there was warmth pooling in her abdomen.

This was dangerous. 

She was getting close to actually making a move on him, and he deserved better than that. 

“Where are we going?” He asked suddenly. 

“Wher- oh! Sorry, I didn’t mention, did I? We’re going back to my place,” she mumbled as they turned onto her street. 

“Sick of living like a pauper, Princess?” He asked lightly. 

She pinched his knuckle, “No, but I thought you might be. Besides, your apartment has too many memories of Octavia associated with it and you could use a distraction.”

That unreadable expression of his was back, and when they arrived at her building, he seemed reluctant to let go of her as he slid out of his seat.

When they entered her ridiculously large penthouse apartment, he immediately crossed to her huge TV and turned in on, flicking to the documentary channel, and she smirked and ducked into the kitchen. She’d been in there for a few minutes, cutting vegetables, when he made his way in. 

“Are you cooking me _dinner?”_ He asked, incredulous. 

“I had a feeling today’s case would go quickly, so I went grocery shopping on my break.” 

“You’re cooking me dinner,” he said, awestruck, and she just nodded and kept slicing the carrots. He stood next to her for a moment, just watching, before he made to move past her. He dropped a kiss to the top of her head, and she wondered when that had become their new normal, but he didn’t even seem to realise he’d done it. He rolled up his sleeves, “What are you making, how can I help?”

“You can sit down, I’ve got this,” she said. 

“I doubt that, you _never_ cook,” he said. 

“Only because you keep doing it for me,” she grumbled – not even remotely complaining; she loved his cooking – and her phone started ringing, “Before you started mothering me, I did actually live a life of complete solitude, which _surprisingly_ involved cooking.”

Bellamy opened his mouth to respond, his eyes dark at the implication that she’d been alone for so long, but she prevented it by yanking her phone out of her back pocket and answering it. 

“Murphy, you _jackass!”_ She snapped, in lieu of hello. 

“Ah, so Bellamy told you about our talk.” Well, at least he sounded a little guilty. 

“Yeah, what the hell is _wrong_ with you?”

“I’m not an idiot, Clarke, you like him,” he said, and she choked on thin air. 

_“What?!”_ She held up a hand to Bellamy, signalling that she would finish the call on her balcony, but he just half-smiled and waved her away. 

“I said you like him.”

“No, I mean the part about you not being an idiot,” she deflected. 

“Fuck you,” he huffed, “and look, I didn’t tell him to jump your bones, nor did I tell him that sometimes when he’s not looking I catch you staring at him like you want to lick his face, or that when I drop in for lunch, he’s all you talk about–”

“That’s because he’s the only person I hang out with, that doesn’t mean anything.”

“But your lack of sex-life is driving you crazy, and by extension, me, because I have to listen to you whine about how horny you are in the same hour as you gush about how great Bellamy is. I’m not suggesting that you get married and have babies, Clarke, I’m just saying you like him enough to sleep with him. So either get back on that horse by getting on Bellamy or by finding someone else. You weren’t putting two and two together yourself, so I thought I’d help.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, “Please stop helping.”

He chuckled, “Alright, fine. Still coming to lunch tomorrow?”

“Yeah, but expect a left-hook.”

He snorted and hung up, and she leaned over the railing, staring down at the city below for a long moment before she made a decision. She tapped at her phone again. 

It rang a few times before, “Clarke?”

“Hey Lexa, sorry I know I’ve been sort of off the grid lately, but did you want to catch up tomorrow night?”

She could hear the other woman’s smile when she replied, “Absolutely. My place, eight o’clock?”

“Deal.”

She pocketed her cell and returned to the kitchen, discovering that Bellamy had chopped the remaining vegetables. She picked up a wooden spoon and jabbed him with it, forcing him back away from the counter. 

“Stay there, mister, _I’m_ cooking,” she threw the wooden spoon down with a clatter and started pouring tins of diced tomatoes into a saucepan. There was a pleasant silence for a while, until Clarke said, “I’m meeting up with Lexa tomorrow.”

She couldn’t decide if the atmosphere changed, or if she just imagined it, because when she looked over her shoulder at Bellamy, his expression was neutral. 

“Okay. We’re still going to Murphy’s, right?” He asked casually, running a hand through his hair. 

“Yeah, I’m seeing her in the evening, Emori made me promise that nothing but a natural disaster or a nuclear war could stop us going to lunch.”

He nodded slowly. 

There was another brief moment of silence, and then her record player crackled, and music started spilling out, filling up the air around them. She was concentrating so hard on adding ingredients to the sauce that it took her a second to realise what he’d put on. 

_“It's okay, it's alright, it's true terror in the middle of the night…”_

She hummed along, darting around the room, and she barely acknowledged Bellamy’s presence, worried what she would find if she gave him her full attention. But the more she ignored him, the more she realised that she was upset not because she was worried he’d be mad at her for calling Lexa, but because he didn’t seem bothered at all. 

_“Give in if it makes you feel better…”_

And that frightened her. She couldn’t have real feelings for Bellamy. That would be far too complicated. She had to get out of his orbit for a few hours: spend some time with Lexa so that she wouldn’t just be thinking about sex every second she spent with him. 

She did _not_ have feelings for Bellamy Blake. 

_“So surrender, so surrender…”_

Did she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is Surrender, by Ball Park Music, and everyone should go listen to them, because they're amazing. 
> 
> Anyway I hope you're still invested in this story, and thank you so much for spending your hard-earned time reading it. You're all lovely, and I am still so floored by all the comments and kudos, so thank you <3


	12. He's My Best Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Bellamy go to Murphy and Emori's for lunch, and Clarke visits Lexa, which leads to some uncomfortable realisations.

Clarke woke up in her own bed, which was disconcerting for three reasons.

_1\. She’d spent the last few weeks at Bellamy’s, and she’d almost forgotten what her own room looked like in the mornings._  
  
_2\. She made Bellamy swear that he would sleep in her bed and unless she was mistaken, he wasn’t in there with her._  
  
_3\. She had fallen asleep on the couch._

So she woke up, realised what he must have done, and was immediately irritated. She threw the covers off and stalked into her living room, where – sure enough – Bellamy was fast asleep on the sofa. 

She yanked a cushion off one of the armchairs and brought it down with a large amount of force onto his face. It was soft, but startling, and he woke up immediately. It took him a second to work out what was going on, but it was pretty clear once he had, because a sheepish expression overtook his face. 

“You cannot be serious,” she hit him again for good measure, and he spluttered at her, “after I specifically told you that if I sleep in your bed at your place, I’m not letting you sleep on my couch, because that’s not fair? You seriously tucked me in bed again?”

“Technically, you shoved me towards your room and said to go to bed, I never agreed.” He bluffed. 

She growled, the noise harsh in her throat, “You wanna try that again?”

“Are you gonna hit me in the face with a pillow again?” He put his hands behind his head and looked up at her, a grin slowly overtaking his face where the embarrassment had been before.

“I’m considering it,” she grumbled, but she tossed it aside anyway, “What, is carrying me to bed some kind of _kink_ for you? Or is it being irritating?”

Something in his eyes flickered, and he cleared his throat, “I’m sorry for carrying you to bed after you fell asleep and taking the couch. Next time I stay at your place I promise to leave you alone and to sleep in your bed, even though that’s not the polite thing to do.”

She raised an eyebrow, “That was easy.”

“Yeah, well, we never come to your place,” he pointed out smugly, and she yanked the pillow out from under him, making his head hit the armrest. He rubbed it as he sat up, “I thought you said you were a delight in the mornings?”

“Not when it comes to you, apparently,” she tried to stay annoyed, but he looked so cute, sitting there with his bedhead and his fake pout, and she ran her fingers through his hair, checking for a bump. “You’ll live,” she said, and just for good measure, she kissed the crown of his head before she breezed past him and back to the kitchen. 

He didn’t follow her in for a while, so she started making breakfast. It wasn't until the smell wafted around the corner that he seemed to realise she was gone.

“Are you making pancakes?” He called from the living room. 

“Waffles,” she corrected, and he came bounding around the corner, looking so much like an excited puppy that she actually giggled. She couldn’t remember ever having seen Bellamy this happy.

Bellamy Blake was standing in her kitchen, and she was making him waffles, and he was practically radiating happiness, the way Cage radiated heat. He was the anti-Cage. Yet that wasn’t even close to the top ten reasons why Clarke liked Bellamy - she liked him for who he was, not who he was compared to everyone else. 

She shook her head, amused, and despite his repeated offers of help, she made him sit down at the countertop and wait for her to finish. Her back was to him for a while, but she heard him rummaging through her cupboards. She turned around to scold him for not following instructions, only to find he was holding hot chocolate powder and two mugs in his hand, smiling in that lopsided way of his. 

_Well shit._

The rush of heat between her legs wasn’t unexpected anymore, but the blatant _affection_ she felt was. 

_Shit, shit, shit, shit. I do **not** like Bellamy,_ she repeated it to herself, like a mantra, even as he finished her drink and handed it to her, their fingers brushing briefly. _Stop it, butterflies, god. Fuck. **Fuck.** Shit. Fuck. I just need to get laid. It’s fine. Everything’s **fine.** I do not have a thing for my best friend. _

“Shit,” she said aloud as she slid the waffles onto the plates and tapped the side of the spatula against her forehead. 

“What’s up?” He asked to her back. 

“I just realised I haven’t told you that you’re my best friend,” she said, turning and depositing the plate in front of him, “I mean, it’s not really a thing that needs to be said, I suppose, but you are.”

She sat down and tucked into her waffles and it took her a shamefully long time to realise that he wasn’t eating his. She glanced up at him, only to find that same frustratingly unreadable expression from the last few days. 

“Are they bad?” She asked, pointing at his untouched plate of food. 

He snapped out of whatever haze he was in and shook his head, “No, sorry, I just… You’re my best friend too, you know that?”

He looked almost shy when he said it, like if he admitted it, she would take her declaration back, and it made her heart ache. He didn’t have a lot of people he could trust in his life, and she had even less. They were each a mess in their own way, but they worked well together.

Clarke wanted to kiss him. 

She could do it, if she wanted – just lean across and put her lips on his – it was easy, people did it all the time. She was quite good at it too, at least according to her one-night-stands, and Niylah. She could just… kiss him. She stared at him, the two of them locked in a wordless standoff that neither seemed willing to concede. She didn’t look at his lips though, because she knew that if she did, she would forget that she wasn’t supposed to want to sleep with her best friend. 

She tried to hide her blush by taking a long gulp of her hot chocolate, “Yeah, I know. Your boss told me.”

He chuckled, and when his gaze dropped back to his food and he made a big show of being surprised that she could not only cook waffles, but cook them well, Clarke could almost forget that she’d never wanted to kiss someone as badly as she’d wanted to kiss Bellamy in that moment.

* * *

* * *

Hanging out at Murphy and Emori’s was always fun, and today was no exception.

Murphy was a surprisingly good cook, and Emori seemed to have a board game for every occasion, something about being deprived of fun when she was a kid, and Clarke knew she was talking about the way everyone had treated her, just for having a hand that didn’t look exactly like everyone else’s. People sucked sometimes, and everyone in that room was a testament to just how much – they had each been bullied, abandoned, neglected and bereaved. 

Yet despite everything, they had picked themselves up, dusted themselves off, and kept going. 

Clarke could do that with this, too, she just needed some time, or at least that was what she told herself, even as she flinched away from Murphy’s arm reaching across the table for the third time since they sat down. She couldn’t work out why she was so on edge today – maybe it was nervous anticipation for meeting Lexa – but it was throwing her off.

To their credit, neither Murphy or Emori said anything, they just continued the conversation like nothing had happened, and she loved them all the more for it. They had been careful around her ever since it happened - hovering, not touching her, pointing rather than guiding, and Murphy had put a stop to his habit of teasingly poking her in the ribs - which in some ways was nice, because she knew they worried. In other ways, however, it just contributed to her overall feeling of isolation, and the yearning to be touched by someone without them having to worry about it first.

After she steeled herself for him to do it a fourth time, she was surprised by Bellamy grabbing the bowl of potatoes Murphy was reaching for and handing it over, his hand on Clarke’s knee to keep his balance while he leaned across the table. 

Murphy barely faltered in his dramatic retelling of the day he met Clarke except to nod a thanks at him. Bellamy returned it and made to withdraw his hand, but the place he was touching, despite being naturally warm from his body heat, was cooling down her agitated nerves, and she didn’t want it to go anywhere. She gripped his fingers under the table, guiding him back down to the top of her thigh. The calming chill washed back over her again, and she resisted the urge to audibly sigh. If he noticed that she had moved his hand higher up her leg, he didn’t show it, and he didn’t try to shift his hand again. 

Once they reached dessert, however, Clarke decided that having him there might be a mixed blessing. She still felt a lot better – she hadn’t flinched again, even when Emori unexpectedly reached forward for the salad – but, it was starting to grate at her how much she wanted to drag his hand elsewhere. His palm was almost dead center in the middle of her thigh, and it hadn’t moved a millimetre since she put it there. He was unknowingly taunting her, so close to where she wanted him, yet so far, and when he leaned past her to steal back the bowl of potatoes, his fingers shifted slightly, and something jolted through her. 

She stood up, trying not to miss the contact as Bellamy’s hand slipped away, “Sorry, just, bathroom,” she stammered, before ducking away. 

In the bathroom, she stared at herself in the mirror, mentally trying to talk herself down from her very, very worked up state. She splashed cold water on her face and tried to think about the most platonic things she could, to dull the way every nerve in her body was vibrating just from being so close to him. 

Unfortunately, now that she was further away from him, that scary heat was beginning to crawl through her veins again, and she tried not to remember Cage’s arm against her throat or his hand on her chest. The ghost of his backhand echoed dully across her cheek and she tried to swallow her discomfort. 

When she emerged, the table had been cleared and they were sitting in the living room. Emori was waving _Cards Against Humanity_ in the air like a maniac, Murphy was lying on the floor with his feet on the wall, and Bellamy was giving her an odd look – apparently that was becoming a theme. She chose to ignore it.

“I don’t know if you’ve ever played that game with us, Emori,” Clarke started, “but if you wanted a fun night in, you have chosen poorly.”

“What, why?” Emori frowned. 

“Because if you think _my_ sense of humour is dark, you should see some of the shit _Clarke_ comes out with,” Murphy grinned wolfishly, and Emori looked relieved. 

“So you like this game?” She asked, and Clarke took a deep breath before putting an arm over her shoulder and hugging her from the side. 

“It’s perfect.”

And the four of them – full of food, cocooned away from the outside world, laughing at each other’s horrifying jokes – managed to keep the fires under Clarke’s skin from consuming her, which made it as close to perfect as she was going to get.

* * *

* * *

Clarke offered to drop Bellamy back to his apartment on her way to Lexa’s, but he politely refused, only asking if she was sure she was okay. She rolled her eyes and promised to call him if she wasn’t, and kissed his cheek before she left. 

She drove to Lexa’s, and when she pulled her phone out, both Bellamy and Murphy had texted her.  
  


> **BELLAMY 7:48pm:**  
>  _I’m here if you need me, Princess._

> **MURPHY: 7:53pm:**  
>  _Have fun having sex!_
> 
> **MURPHY 7:56pm:**  
>  _Bellamy’s moping, and I blame you._

Clarke tried not to laugh at her phone, and replied to Murphy.

> **CLARKE 7:59pm:**  
>  _He’s just worried – distract him with food_  
>  _or try telling him something factually incorrect_  
>  _about Ancient Greece._

She put her phone back in her bag and knocked on Lexa’s door.

The woman answered, smiling, and Clarke expected to suddenly feel more at ease seeing the familiar woman, but instead, her anxiety spiked, and she sucked in a sharp breath in an effort to calm herself down.

They drank coffee in her kitchen, and caught up on everything they’d each missed the last month, although Clarke didn’t tell her much. She wasn’t going to drag Lexa into her mess. Lexa was steadfast and straightforward, and her smile was private, like she was saving it just for her. Not for the first time, Clarke found herself thinking that if their situations were different, she could have fallen in love with this woman.

They talked for hours, and when Clarke checked her watch, it was past eleven and neither of them had made a move – they were content just talking. Clarke listened to Lexa talk about her co-workers at the café, and Lexa listened to every story about Bellamy, Murphy and Emori that Clarke could think of that wouldn’t imply that anything was wrong. Lexa seemed to pick up on her reluctance to open up, and she grew a little more distant when telling her own stories. 

Clarke started talking about Bellamy again, and after a while, Lexa bristled.

“This Bellamy guy,” Lexa inquired, “Last time I saw you, you didn’t have anything nice to say about him, and now he’s… you’re _close.”_

Clarke shrugged, trying to come off nonchalant while her brain whirred with excuses, “He’s been helping out a lot lately. I had an… accident outside The Dead Zone and he took me home and patched me up, and it turns out that he’s really good at taking care of people, which makes sense, I mean, he raised his sister. So he kept checking up on me and pretending he wasn’t, and it just morphed into us hanging out because we like each other.”

“You _care_ about him.”

“He’s my best friend.”

“Not what I meant.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow, “I’m at _your_ apartment, aren’t I?”

Lexa didn’t waste a second. She crashed her lips to Clarke’s, and the sense of relief Clarke felt at finally being kissed by someone other than Cage was palpable. She relaxed into it and the two of them stumbled towards the bedroom. 

Lexa leaned her against the wall and started kissing her jaw and her neck and her shoulder and Clarke sighed happily. She’d missed this – being touched, being kissed, being in the moment. She’d missed how nice it felt to be aroused without feeling guilty or uncomfortable.

In fact, everything was going really well, until Lexa’s hand trailed up her shirt and grabbed her left breast, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe.

Clarke was back in that alley.

Cage was hissing in her ear, and his arm was on her throat and his hand was on her chest, gripping hard enough to bruise. 

The room was spinning and she didn’t know how to stop it. 

She gasped, and Lexa stopped kissing her to find out what was wrong, and she quickly stepped back once she saw how hysterical Clarke was becoming. 

“Clarke, are you okay?”

She nodded, “Yeah, no, I… I just need some air. Give me two minutes.”

She practically sprinted to the bathroom and locked the door behind her, sliding down against it until she was sitting on the cold tiles, trying to calm down. Tears slipped down her cheeks and she pressed her palms against her eyes and tried not to choke on the lump in her throat. 

Lexa knocked on the door, “Can I get you something? What do you need?”

Bellamy, her brain replied, but she said, “Nothing, I don’t know, I just… I don’t think I can do this.”

Lexa tried the door handle, and when she was unsuccessful, she knocked again. Clarke shuffled away and unlocked it. Lexa came in, saw her on the ground and immediately sighed and shook her head.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t… I can’t talk about it,” she admitted, and not just because she was worried about putting Lexa into Cage’s sights, but also because she didn’t feel comfortable talking about it with anyone but Bellamy. 

Lexa sat down next to her and stared at the sink, “This isn’t a good idea.” 

“What isn’t?”

“You and I. _Us._ I really… I really like you, Clarke, but there’s obviously a lot of stuff going on that you don’t want to talk to me about. You've clearly got some baggage. And if we’re not sleeping together and you don’t trust me enough to tell me why you’re crying on my bathroom floor, then this isn’t much of anything, is it?”

Clarke opened her mouth to argue, but despite how angry Lexa’s attitude made her, she really couldn’t find a way to disagree with it. 

So, once she’d picked herself up off the floor, she grabbed her bag and nodded at the woman politely before getting in her car and driving away.

* * *

* * *

Clarke was beyond pissed off by the time she reached her apartment. She decided she would work on the files she was supposed to have done by the next day, to take her mind off it. 

She had so much work to do, but even as she spread it out on the floor of her living room, she knew she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on it. She paced up and down her apartment, poured herself a stiff drink and knocked it back with the careful precision of someone practiced in alcoholism. Which she was, although she didn’t like to acknowledge it – her mother had always been verging on the precipice of an unhealthy dependence on alcohol, and while Clarke had never been quite so reliant on it, the burn in her throat did actually help. 

It was with the liquid courage coursing through her veins that she pulled her cell from her back pocket. 

After a few rings, Bellamy answered, exhaustion coating his words, making them thick, almost syrupy, _“Clarke?_ You alright?”

She froze, “Sorry! I didn’t mean to wake you.”

She checked her watch – 1am. 

_Shit._

But he was protesting, already shaking the fatigue from his voice, “No, no, it’s fine. What’s wrong?”

She bit her lip, “I’m just… I’m not… I’m not coping very well, with everything, and I’m so annoyed, and I have so much work to do before tomorrow, and I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called–”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” 

He rung off, and she was left standing in her kitchen, wondering what she had ever done to deserve a friend like him.

* * *

* * *

Bellamy knocked twelve minutes later. 

She opened the door and he slipped past her and into the kitchen, making a beeline for her fridge. She trailed after him, observing as he grabbed chocolate and sugar from her cupboard, and milk, butter and cream from her fridge. He put a pan on the stovetop and turned on the heat. 

“You’re early.”

“No traffic at one in the morning,” he said matter-of-factly, but she quirked her eyebrow at him. He groaned, “And I may have broken the speed limit once or twice.”

“Bellamy,” she scolded, but she couldn’t be annoyed for long because she suddenly worked out what he was doing. She shuffled closer, “Bell, are you making me _hot chocolate?_ From _scratch?”_

He smirked, “Yep. Picked it up when I was in Italy visiting O. Her college exchange was in Rome, but I figured I would probably never get the chance to go again, so while I was there, I went to a few other places – Pisa, Genoa, Venice – but my favourite was Florence. I ended up in this little café near the Uffizi, and just on impulse, bought a hot chocolate. It was an out of body experience. I thought maybe I’d died and gone to heaven, because nothing could be that perfect; not in _my_ life. Italy is doing it _right._ They make the best hot chocolates in the world; it’s practically soup, it’s so thick you can dip stuff in it like fondue, and it’s delicious.”

Clarke felt some of her earlier vexation dissipating, and took to perching on the counter, heels tapping against the drawers, “I can’t believe you’ve been to Italy. When O told me she went, I was so jealous.”

He tilted his head in her direction, but he was focussed on the bubbling chocolate in front of him, “You’ve never been?”

“Well, my parents _are_ rich,” she snarked, earning her a good-humoured glare, “But they were busy. My dad was a lawyer, my Mom’s a senator, travelling was never an option unless it was to somewhere business related. Never been outside this continent.”

He stuck his pinky in the goop, bringing it to his lips and moaning, annoyingly self-satisfied, before pouring it into the two mugs he’d gotten from her cupboard. Sometimes she couldn’t believe that they were really friends – like she’d blink and he’d disappear. Two months ago, he’d never been to her apartment, and now he seemed to know her kitchen better than she did, despite rarely visiting it. 

He offered her one of the mugs and she sipped it tentatively. And god, what a sip. She decided that Bellamy’s hot chocolate was infinitely better than Dutch courage, because as the warmth slipped down her throat, she felt it trailing into her fingers and toes, curling around her middle. She felt better, and she couldn’t decide if it was the drink itself, or the fact that he had driven over at 1am to make it for her.

He was already halfway through his, but she savoured every tiny mouthful, rolling it over her tongue, feeling it ooze across her tastebuds like treacle. Bellamy was right about it being heavenly – like earth didn’t deserve something so sweet, like it couldn’t have created it alone. _A drink for the Gods,_ she recalled her dad saying once, when he was telling her about the best cocktail he’d ever had, and she couldn’t think of a more fitting description.

“Good?” he asked, a smile in his eyes like he already knew the answer.

“Bere per gli dei,” she responded, translating her father’s words into the old language with ease, and he chuckled. 

“You’ve never been to Italy, but you speak Italian?” He sounded amused, but more than a little impressed.

“I have clients from other countries,” she pointed out, “And like I said, I’ve always wanted to go.”

He finished the last of his drink and started to fill up the sink with soapy water, “Maybe you will one day.”

“Sure, when I find the time, between dodging my boyfriend, ignoring my friends, and balancing my job with my sanity,” she couldn’t keep the bitter edge out of her voice, and he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. 

“It won’t be like this forever,” he said, so softly she wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined it. Then, louder, “Get some work done, I’ll finish this.”

She grumbled all the way to the living room floor, but he knew her too well – she’d been itching to work on the deposition, and he knew how frustrated she’d be if she wasn’t prepared the next day. She thumbed through the pages, highlighting various phrases, and Bellamy finished washing up and started folding the laundry she’d left by the door. 

She tried to tell him he didn’t have to, but he just waved her off, so she turned her attention back to her work. She really wanted to focus but Lexa’s disappointed face kept drifting back into her vision, distracting her, and she spent twenty minutes in silence, wrestling with her desire to move on and her impulse to pick up the phone and call her. 

But she could have done that earlier, and she didn’t. 

She called Bellamy. 

She forced her nails into her palm, trying to rid herself of the feeling of shame in her gut, both for how things ended with Lexa, and for dragging her friend out of bed so late, but it just wasn’t working. The calming presence of Bellamy wasn’t enough to push away how frustrated and heartbroken she truly was. 

She growled and threw her pen across the room. It bounced off her TV, spinning off underneath the table, and Bellamy retrieved it. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked. He held the pen out to her, but she didn’t take it, she just kept all her attention on the carefully typed page in front of her, until she realised she had read the same sentence eight times and wasn’t taking any of it in.

 _“I hate this.”_ She hissed.

He put the pen down, “Hate what, Princess?”

“I just… he’s ruined _everything!”_ Clarke slammed the case file down, “My work-life, my friendships, my concentration, and now I can’t even have sex because all I can think about is his arm against my throat and his hands up my dress, and his…”

She trailed off, trying to will away the memory.

“Okay, time for a break,” Bellamy said, sitting on the couch behind her. She leaned back between his knees and he started rubbing her shoulders, “It’ll get better.”

“When?! When will I be able to look at myself in the mirror without hating myself, or touch myself without feeling disgusting? Because I feel _so awful_ and broken–”

“You’re not,” Bellamy cut her off, his thumbs making soothing circles either side of her spine, “You’re not broken.”

“Lexa tried to put her hand up my shirt today and I freaked out and locked myself in the bathroom,” she blurted out.

Bellamy just kept massaging her shoulders, like what she’d told him was perfectly normal, refusing to pass judgement until she’d finished what she wanted to say. 

“I just… I miss being _touched_ , Bellamy. Not even… I feel so isolated; Octavia hates me, I can’t spend time with anyone else because I don’t want to bring them into this, Murphy and I have never really been physical like that, and trying to hook up with Lexa just made me feel awful… Every time anyone touches me, it’s like I’m right back in that alley. I just miss being touched.”

He sighed and tugged on her hair a little, so that she was resting her head on the couch between his legs, staring up at him while he leaned over her. 

“I’m touching you right now, Princess,” he said softly, and as if to prove his point, he slid his hands down her shoulders to her arms, until he was no longer massaging her aching muscles, but just trailing his fingers across her skin. She tried as hard as she could to ignore the growing heat between her thighs. 

“I know,” she frowned up at him.

“You’re not freaking out now,” he prompted, like a question, and she sighed comfortably as his hands drifted back up, past her shoulders, and ended up in her hair.

“It’s hard to explain… You’re the only person I feel comfortable being touched by. You’re the only person I want to touch me. You make me feel safe.” She said, and noticed something almost like a blush rising in his cheeks. 

“Why?” It was the second time he’d asked that question in two days, and she realised that he truly didn’t get just how much she needed him. How much she wanted him. He looked curious, and a little self-conscious, and she smiled. 

“Because I _know_ you. You’d never hurt me, not ever. Even with Octavia, I know she’d swing a punch if I annoyed her enough. And Raven could definitely kick my ass. I don’t know, with everyone else, I can’t relax. But you… all you want to do is protect me. Maybe it’s because even when you hated me, I knew you would never hurt me, or treat me like Cage did. Then, once we became friends, it just made it even clearer that you would never lay a hand on me like that. So touching you, and letting you touch me, became easier.”

He smiled down at her and she felt all the tension that had been stored in her muscles all day start to dissipate. Maybe that was why she let slip the thing she had been thinking for the last few days, the thing she had promised herself she would never say. 

“I think we should have sex.”

His hands stilled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out, things get a WHOLE. LOT. MORE. BELLARKE.
> 
> So look forward to all the _awkward_ fallout that comes from this chapter, as well as the _adorable_ fallout, Bellamy being worried (because when is he not?), and Clarke getting impatient. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading it, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> Next chapter: Bellamy and Clarke have an... _interesting_ discussion about her proposition, and the title of this fic really comes into play.


	13. I Think We Should Have Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke makes a proposition and they argue about it, but, like, _softly_.

_“I think we should have sex.”_

_His hands stilled._

There was a long pause while she gradually felt herself turn pink, but his eyes never left hers, and she couldn’t look away.

She shouldn’t have said it. She knew that. But she wanted to be touched, and held, and kissed, and she had been slowly going out of her mind the last few weeks as the people who knew tip-toed around her, not wanting to upset her. Bellamy had been the only person who managed to at least feign normalcy, touching her pinky to get her attention, or splaying his hand between her shoulders to guide her through crowds. She had enjoyed those touches more than she probably should have. She was glad she was so close with him now – it was so much easier than being his enemy – but whenever he bumped his shoulder into hers conspiratorially, she wanted more. 

That same thought danced around her head, the one that had been torturing her for days: she wasn’t in love with him: she just _wanted_ him. It was like a slow migraine building behind her eyes, growing every time he touched her. It had been making her feel queasy for weeks, like if she didn’t kiss him soon, the pain would tear through her head and pull her apart from the inside. She needed him. 

Eventually he spoke, “What?”

He’d heard her, she’d said it pretty clearly. He was giving her an out, but she’d made her bed now, she may as well lie in it. 

“Will you have sex with me?” she asked, nervousness suddenly settling in where the calm had been just moments earlier. 

“No.” 

His hands left her skin like she was fire and he was scared of being burned. 

He stood up to leave, but she turned in her place and snatched his hand from the air, yanking him back to his earlier position, except now she was facing him, slotted between his legs. He stared at her warily.

“We’re not talking about this,” he said, “you’re not thinking straight, this is… you’re just upset because of Lexa.”

“No, I’m upset because of Cage, and the fact that I couldn’t sleep with Lexa was just a side-effect of that. I just want to be _touched_ again, Bellamy. I miss it, I miss kissing and sex and everything that comes with it, I just, I can’t seem to get past the kissing part. And I find you attractive.”

“So you want to sleep with me because I’m here, because I’m closest?” He didn’t _sound_ offended, but then, he was hard to read, especially when he was staring at her with that deliberately blank expression.

“No, I don’t just want… if Lexa was here, I wouldn’t want to sleep with her, or Raven, or anyone else. I want to have sex with _you.”_

“Clarke,” he started, “you went through a really traumatic thing, and I don’t… I don’t want to be a trigger for that, and I also don’t want to… we’re _friends_ , Clarke, you’re telling me that sleeping together wouldn’t make that weird?”

“No, it wouldn’t,” she said confidently.

“How could you be sure?” 

“Because we wouldn’t make it weird.”

“Clarke–”

“Can you just… hear me out first?”

He sat back, eyeing her like she was about to do something crazy, which, well, maybe she was. She tried to start off light, “You said if I ever needed hate sex–”

“That is not the same thing.” He said, crossing his arms. 

“Do you not want to?” she asked shyly, knowing the answer. 

He hesitated. 

“I’m not going to answer that.”

She raised an eyebrow, “Why?”

“I feel like this is one of those questions that O asks, where no matter what I say, it’s the wrong answer,” he said contemplatively, “it’s a no-win situation.”

Clarke frowned at him confusedly, “What?”

“Either, _yes_ , I find you attractive and want to sleep with you, in which case I feel awful because I’m just another gross alpha male objectifying you, or _no_ , in which case, you get offended that I don’t find you pretty, and I’ve succeeded in making you feel bad anyway.”

Clarke pondered it for a minute, and his eyes raked over her face. He looked faintly irritated, but she knew that it was only there to hide his anxiety, and his reluctance to upset her. She had realised a while back that most of his anger was a shield, to stop people seeing him for who he really was – kind-hearted and easily swayed by those he loves. Lately, he’d started letting her in, revealing the chinks in his armour, and she could see them again in that moment; in the way he wetted his lips as he pointedly avoided looking at hers, or the way he was leaning away from her, but his fingers were scrunching into the crook of his elbow in an effort not to reach out.

She made her decision and stood up, hovering over him, before climbing into his lap, her knees either side of him on the couch. He immediately tensed, jaw working as he stared up at her. 

“First of all, it’s cute that you assume you’re an alpha male –”

He managed a small smile, but he still didn’t move. 

“– second of all, the fact that you’re worried about me feeling bad just proves that you’re exactly the right person for this.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” he regarded her like a math problem or a puzzle or a piece of evidence – like he was trying to work her out. 

She settled her weight on him a little more and caught him subtly clenching his fist into his crossed arm. She hesitated, “I… you’ll stop.”

He blinked. 

“If I ask you to, I know that you’ll stop, immediately, and you won’t think I’m crazy or selfish or pathetic if I start freaking out.”

He made a face, “Of course I wouldn’t, what kind of… _Oh_. Did that happen already?”

She swallowed, “Lexa broke up with me. Not that we were ever really together… I just… I couldn’t tell her about what Cage did, and then when I started panicking this afternoon, she got frustrated that I wouldn’t talk to her, and she told me it wasn’t working, and I left.”

The expression on Bellamy’s face was one of hurt, and she recognized he was offended on her behalf. He didn’t seem to notice that his arms had loosened slightly, or that he had sat up so that he was closer to her. 

“So, I want it to be you, partially because I know you’ll stop, partially because I know you won’t judge me, and partially because I’ve been thinking about it since the day I met you.”

He couldn’t conceal the flash of surprise as it crossed his face, “Seriously?”

She snorted, “Obviously. You may be an ass, Bellamy Blake, but you’re undeniably sexy.”

“Sexy, huh?” he asked, and his voice sounded lower than usual, or maybe that was because she could feel it vibrating through her. His hands seemed to move of their own accord, resting against her shoulders again, and she sighed, instantly feeling calmer, sinking down further, putting her full weight into his lap. He made a strangled noise, “Clarke, this is a terrible idea.”

“Is that a no?” she ran a finger down his chest, stopping at the waistband of his jeans, and he caught her wrist, stopping her. 

“No, it’s just… are you sure about this?” 

“Yes.”

He sighed, “Okay. But we’re going to do this right.”

She smiled, relieved, “What does that entail?”

He leaned a little closer, and she felt her heart skip a beat or two. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting him to do, or if he was going to kiss her, but instead his brow creased disapprovingly, “Well, for starters, it requires that you remember to breathe.”

She hadn’t even realised that she had been holding her breath.

“I wasn’t worried,” she said reassuringly, “I was just… waiting.”

He looked a little nervous, “What for?”

“I don’t know. For _you,”_ she murmured self-consciously. He held her gaze for a moment and stroked his hands up and down her arms absentmindedly, from shoulder to elbow. _God, that was what she had been missing_ – just the casual touch of another person, unthinking, unhurried, not concerned about how she would react – just one person touching her like everything was normal. She closed her eyes and just focussed on the feeling of his slightly rougher skin on hers, resting by her elbows. 

“If you feel uncomfortable, at any point, you need to _tell_ me. Don’t just say, _‘I’m fine’_ if you’re not, because I will not be able to live with myself if you feel pressured into anything.”

She nodded, still riveted by the feel of his palms against her, and he leaned forward a little, nose brushing against her cheek. She felt warmth pooling in her abdomen, and his hands moved up to either side of her face. He was so close to her, but he didn’t make a move, “And… we’re not having sex.”

“What?” She asked, and her eyes flew open. Which was a mistake, because his deep brown ones were so close and she was at risk of falling into them. She felt herself teetering on the edge, ready to tumble down the rabbit hole, when he brushed his thumb against her cheek.

“Not yet, Princess. I think you should get used to being touched first, without any pressure to go anywhere with it,” he murmured, and she stared at him in wonder. She couldn’t believe she ever thought that Bellamy was an inconsiderate asshole, because this man, sitting here, was perfect. He was only thinking of her, desperate to make sure she felt comfortable, and it made her want to melt into his arms. 

So she closed the distance between them, capturing his lips in her own. 

He kissed her back slowly, his hands never straying from her face, and she brought her own arms up and around his neck, trying to pull him closer. He tasted of chocolate, and she probably did too, and it was dizzying the way he ran his tongue along her bottom lip when she opened her mouth to him. Kissing Bellamy was like falling down that rabbit hole and ending up in a deep lake, cool and calming and never-ending. She ran her fingers through his hair and he inhaled a little sharper, but otherwise remained completely stoic, moving his lips steadily beneath hers. 

After a few minutes, Clarke found herself getting impatient, and she shifted in his lap, grinding down on him a little. To his credit, the only reaction it garnered was a slight tightening of his palms against her jaw, and she groaned impatiently. He stopped for a moment. 

“You doing okay, Princess?” he mumbled. She nodded, and he resumed kissing her, his hands still infuriatingly unmoved.

She made another small noise of dissatisfaction, and before he had a chance to ask, she demanded breathily, _“Touch_ me.”

She actually felt his pulse start racing under her fingers, and he tensed up again, unsure. 

She kissed him harder and he reciprocated, but now his hands were slipping down her neck a little, thumbs stroking across her collarbone. He was trailing feather-light touches down her shoulders that sent waves of excitement down her body, and she wanted it to go on forever. Then, as he shifted them lower, the base of his hand brushed against her left breast and she froze, exactly like she had with Lexa earlier and just like then, she felt the panic rising into her throat. She broke away, heat in her face, and refused to meet his eyes. 

Bellamy removed his hands from her person completely, trying to catch her gaze, and she tipped forward enough to tuck her head into the crook of his neck, breathing heavily. 

“Clarke? What can I do?” he asked, worried. 

She reached blindly out for his hands, “I’m fine.”

 _“Clarke,”_ there was a note of warning in his voice, and she threaded her fingers through his, pulling them up so that they were pressed against the back of the sofa on either side of his head. 

“I’m good, I just… I just need a moment.”

He stayed completely still, chest rising and falling in time with hers, “So that’s a problem.”

It wasn’t a judgement, it was just an observation, and she nodded, her face still obscured from his view. 

“Okay. That’s okay, we can work on that,” he said, like it was obvious; the simplest thing in the world.

Clarke took a deep breath and lifted her head, well aware that her eyes were a little red, “You can keep going now.”

“Are you sure?” His eyes raked over her face, looking apprehensive about the idea. 

“Please don’t stop touching me,” she begged, “It was so nice, it’s just… he grabbed me there, and it left bruises, and I…”

Bellamy nodded once, curtly, “Could I have my right hand back?”

She let go of it, and she wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t for him to move her own palm over her breast, his closing over it, holding her there. She hadn’t managed to do that on her own. She’d stopped wearing button-up shirts to avoid accidentally scraping her left side and flinched at even the slightest bump of her hand, but now there it was, held there by Bellamy’s. She swallowed, anxiety building. 

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, eyes boring into hers. 

“I don’t know,” she said, and she could feel tears of frustration building. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

She tried not to think about the memories of Cage’s grip in the same place, “No, I don’t think so. Can you just… distract me?”

He squeezed the hand still linked with hers by his head, and she released it. He carded it through her hair, tugging her down to meet him when he kissed her gently. They remained that way for a minute or so, just taking each other in. She felt the panic starting to ease off, and leaned into him again, sandwiching their hands between them, but she barely noticed because his other hand had drifted to her waist, caressing her tenderly. The hum of arousal was back, spreading up from between her legs, and she felt better than she had in weeks.

She sighed into his mouth and he gently nibbled her bottom lip, which made her impulsively roll her hips forward. He moaned, pulling her closer, and without really thinking about it, she slipped her hand out from between them to tangle in his hair. The barrier between him and her breast was suddenly gone, and she barely noticed, she was so busy drowning in Bellamy’s lips and Bellamy’s touch and _Bellamy._

It was only when he went to move it that she realised and he broke the kiss to look up at her, those gorgeous eyes filled with concern. She shook her head almost imperceptibly, and hastily pulled his hand back over her chest, missing the contact. He drew in a sharp breath of surprise and maybe something like lust, and she smiled. 

“You have no idea, do you, exactly what that does to me?” he asked, as the unease melted away, replaced with a grin of his own.

“What? Touching my boobs?” She was trying for humour, but it seemed to have the opposite effect; he looked up at her, the ghost of his grin still in his cheeks, but his eyes deadly serious as they took her in. He shook his head.

“You, smiling like that,” he muttered, “It bowls me over, every time. You’re _so beautiful_ , Clarke.”

She blushed, looking away, and he pressed a kiss to her jaw. 

“I mean it,” he said earnestly, nosing his way down her neck, nuzzling at her collarbone. 

She let her head drop back, completely content, and breathed, “You’re beautiful too.”

He chuckled into her clavicle, and she smacked his shoulder playfully. He just kept grazing his lips across her chest, keeping her in a constant state of alert and relaxed, awake and dazed.

“Sorry, it’s not really funny, it’s just… I don’t think beautiful is a word that’s ever been associated with me,” he said self-consciously, and then she felt the smile against the curve of her breast, “Ruggedly handsome, sure–”

And it’s a terrible joke, and it’s teasing, and light, and he says it because he wants to make her smile, and she can’t help it. She feels herself fall a little bit in love with him, her heart reaching out to his like the light at the end of the tunnel, like he’s the only thing that can heal her. She wants him like this all the time; unhurried and soft and loving – but she _can’t._ She can’t be in love with Bellamy, not like this. Not when she’s broken, not when they only reason they’re even sitting here like this is because Cage Wallace assaulted her. Suddenly everything feels like it’s too much – his lips against her and her hands in his hair – it’s like a sizzling electric current is suddenly running through them both, and it’s just _too damn much._

Her breath caught in her throat, and it only got worse from there, because he _noticed_ and instantly assumed it was something he’d done, that it was somehow his fault.

Whatever else he was going to say never came to fruition. He interrupted himself to check in with her, “Clarke? Hey, you okay?”

She gripped at his shoulders and clambered out of his lap, backing away, “No, I’m not, I… I can’t do this.”

He leaned forward, propping his elbows up on his knees, but making no move to get up, “That’s okay.”

There it was again – that throbbing ache in her skull that wanted nothing more than to drag him up by the shirt and have passionate, world-shattering sex. But now it was tempered by a new ache, one in her heart, that couldn’t believe any good could come of it, because she was damaged, and he deserved better. 

“No it’s not,” she said, self-loathing in her throat, and the tears were back, forcing their way down her cheeks even as she tried to hold them in. She sobbed, bringing her hands up to cover her face, “It’s _not_ okay, I’m such a m-mess, this is so fucked up, I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m _so sorry_ , Bellamy, I’m so- I’m so _sorry, I can’t–”_

She was shaking; her skin felt like it was crawling all over, like there were creatures that lived in her flesh, creatures that fed off her guilt and shame, amplifying it until she felt nothing else. 

And then Bellamy’s arms were around her, drawing her in gently, and she let him, even though she knew she shouldn’t. She should tell him to go home, for his own good, but instead, she let him hold her while she cried. It was the first time anyone had done that for her since her father died, since Wells; she felt safe, and for the first time in a very long time, she didn’t feel alone. 

“Don’t apologise,” he murmured into her hair, “Don’t ever apologise for that, Clarke. I promise, I would _never_ do anything to hurt you. All I want is for you to feel okay.”

He said it like a prayer, like a promise, and she knew it before the words finished tumbling from his mouth – she was completely, stupidly, frustratingly in love with Bellamy. She had never been so certain of anything in her life; he would do anything to protect her, to keep her out of harm’s way, and she was so selfish that she wanted to let him. She couldn’t help the way she clung to him then, like he was the only thing keeping her upright, fingers fisting into his shirt, as all thoughts of pulling away left her head. This was where she wanted to be, and where she felt the most wanted.

That was the worst part, worse than realising she might be in love with Bellamy Blake:

The realisation that he might love her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are you thinking??? 
> 
> This was actually the first chapter I wrote of this fanfic, and I got the idea because I was reading about BDSM. (it's not really my cup of tea, but I was researching it for something) and there's a really fascinating thing that they do in BDSM dungeons where rape victims go there and have their rape recreated. Which you would think is a _terrible_ idea, because of how horribly traumatic that would be, but actually, it's incredibly helpful in most cases, because they're recreating the rape in a situation where the victim can say "no" or "stop" and the people will immediately back off. It's a way of giving back control to those people who've had it taken away from them, and I think that is incredible. So I was reading about that, and I'd already had this fic idea jumping around in my head, and it all sort of fell into place. 
> 
> I didn't want them to actually simulate her assault though, because that's very aggressive, and, like I said, not my cup of tea, so I took it down a peg or two and ended up with this chapter, (and the previous chapter, because they were initially just one big document) and then went back to the start and wrote from the beginning. 
> 
> It has been a JOURNEY writing the first eleven chapters to lead up to it. And we're so close to the end! Only a few more chapters to go! I'm so sad the journey is coming to an end, but I'm so excited that so many of you are still reading it, and are invested. 
> 
> I love you all, thank you so much for your kudos and comments, you have no idea how much it means to me. 
> 
> **Teaser for Chapter 14:** _Clarke tries (and largely fails) to ignore her feelings, and she gets sent a mysterious parcel from an anonymous source._


	14. Fucking Hell, Griffin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murphy swings by to be a good friend (you will pry this brotp from my cold dead fingers). 
> 
> A mysterious package turns up and Bellamy brings it to her office, while Octavia judges them both, still assuming they're sleeping together, and being slightly less wrong about it than she was before (but she doesn't know that, obviously). Clarke pines some more.

Clarke woke up in her own room again, and for the second day in a row, she was surprised. This time, however, it wasn’t because she was there, but because of who was there with her. 

She was lying on her side, her back against Bellamy’s chest, and his arm was draped over her waist. His nose tickled the hair at the back of her neck and his feet tangled with hers. She felt completely at ease for the first time in a very long time, and she sighed softly, a small smile tweaking the corners of her lips. But she was hungry, and she had to be at work in fifteen minutes. So, she tried not to think about how much she wanted it – to wake up like that every day – and instead focussed on extricating herself from him without waking him up. 

“Are you okay?” He mumbled, drawing her closer. 

“Sorry, I was trying not to wake you; I was going to make breakfast.” She punctuated the statement with a more deliberate effort to get out of bed, detangling their legs and shifting away from him a little.

He just wrapped his arms around her more firmly, “Not what I asked, Princess.”

She sighed, turning her head to look at him, and was momentarily thrown by how close their faces were. Luckily, his eyes were still closed, so he didn’t see the flash of uncertainty in hers. She swallowed, “Yeah, Bellamy, I’m okay.”

He pressed his forehead against her temple, “Good.”

“Do you want–”

“Stay here a minute?” Bellamy asked softly. “Give me a minute to wake up and I’ll come help with breakfast.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

He sat back a little, opening his eyes, “Are you ever going to accept that maybe I _like_ doing things for you?”

She knew she should probably close her mouth, but she was too taken aback to do anything but stare. She realised he was actually waiting for a response, but nothing she could say felt like enough, so she just turned in his arms and buried her face in his neck, hugging him close.

* * *

* * *

  
  


**Hours Earlier:**

  
  


She wasn’t sure how long she’d been crying for, with Bellamy’s hands stroking her back and his cheek pressed into the top of her head, but eventually, he held her out at arms-length and raked his eyes down her tired face. 

“Come on Princess, you need sleep.”

She glanced over at the clock on the wall to see that it was nearly 4am, “I’ve got work in four hours,” she remembered with a groan.

“You don’t have to,” he said, knowing full well what her response would be.

“Yes I do,” she sighed, as he started guiding her towards her bedroom. 

“Fine,” he grumbled, yanking her covers aside and disappearing back into the living room, only to return with pyjamas from the pile of laundry he’d been folding. She took them gratefully and walked into her en-suite to put them on. While she was there, she brushed her teeth and scrubbed a hand through her hair, chancing a look in the mirror. She looked… fine. 

It was the first time in a while that she felt comfortable meeting her own eyes, and her eyelashes fluttered as she stared at herself; wondering if she was finally starting to recover. 

When she emerged, Bellamy was still there, sitting on the edge of her bed with his elbows on his knees, head bowed. She shuffled over to stand in front of him, moving into his space and cuddling his head to her stomach. He seemed reluctant to reciprocate, but eventually brought his arms up to her waist. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she murmured, running her fingers through his hair. 

He huffed a frustrated breath and she felt it fan across her hip, but he said nothing, just held her a little tighter. 

“I mean it, Bellamy, you’re doing all the right things,” she said more firmly. 

He pulled back to look at her, his thumbs tracing absentminded patterns on her sides. His brow was furrowed and his mouth was set in a hard line, and she remembered something he’d said a few weeks ago: that it was easy to recognise self-hatred when you felt it yourself. She could see it in him then – the tortured loathing behind his eyes – and she felt guilty for putting it there. 

“I’m fine. You’ve gotta stop worrying,” she smoothed her fingers across his forehead, dispelling the frown, and he sighed, closing his eyes. 

After a moment that could have been a second or a hundred years, he blinked up at her and managed a tight smile, repeating the words from the very first time he’d sat alone with her in her apartment; “Don’t ask me to do something impossible, Princess.”

 _Fuck, I love you so much,_ she thought, but what she said was, “Come on, let’s go to sleep.”

He cleared his throat, “I’ll take the couch.”

“No, jackass. I told you, you’re sleeping in my bed.”

“Clarke, you’ve had a rough day, just let me sleep on the couch. Take the bed.”

“No.”

He grumbled something under his breath and stood up, steering her towards the space where he’d opened the covers. She dug her heels in. He groaned, irritated, “I’ll pick you up if you don’t get in yourself. Go to _sleep, Clarke.”_

“I’m not letting you sleep on the _couch, Bellamy,”_ she rolled her eyes over her shoulder at him.

“Well I’m not letting you sleep on the couch either,” he nodded slowly, thinking it over, “I’ll go home, and I’ll see you tomorr-"

She spun around and grabbed his wrists before he had a chance to move even an inch, “Don’t you dare, it’s 4am; you’re exhausted and I am not risking you falling asleep at the wheel. Don’t even think about it.”

He sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face, “Well then what do you suggest?”

“Sleep in here with me,” she said suddenly. 

He winced, “I don’t know if that’s…”

“I told you already, Bellamy, I trust you. It’s _fine_ , I’m _fine_ , get your shoes off and get in here.”

He sighed again, more loudly, but he didn’t protest, and she took that as a yes, so she crawled under the covers and watched him remove his shoes and his pants, until he was in just a shirt and his boxers.

“Feel free to remove the shirt too, we wouldn’t want to deprive anyone of the chance to see your chest,” she quipped. 

He glared at her, “you’re the only person here.”

“Fine, we wouldn’t want to deprive _me_ of the chance to see your chest,” she grinned at him, and it was like everything went back to normal in an instant, because he chuckled as he slid into bed beside her. 

He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, and she rolled onto her side, watching him. They lay that way for a moment, living in the bubble of comfortable silence. Clarke’s pocket universe had expanded to include Bellamy, and now she knew that no matter what happened, even if she lost everyone else, even if everyone else abandoned her, it would always include Bellamy. But she was terrified, because what if she _did_ lose him? What if the Wallaces took him away? Or if she pushed him away on her own? The fact that he was still there with her when she'd spent the last hour crying after she kissed him was proof that it would take a lot to shake him off at this point, but still... she worried. He took a deep breath suddenly, blowing it out towards the ceiling, and after a stretch of silence, he did it again, like he kept only remembering to breathe at the last second. She knew the feeling.

He glanced at her nervously, “what?”

“I’m just wondering why you’ve still got a shirt on,” she quipped and he pulled the pillow out from beneath her and batted her in the face with it.

* * *

* * *

  
  
  


  


Clarke only vaguely remembered falling asleep, and when she had, Bellamy hadn’t been as wrapped around her as he was, but she wasn’t exactly complaining. She still had to go to work though, so she dragged herself out of bed. It occurred to her just how lucky she was to have him, and she started loathing herself again, because he deserved better than she was able to give. She wanted more than anything to go back to the night before and stop herself from having that realisation. Well... maybe not more that _anything_ \- because she also desperately wanted to lose herself in his arms, and she knew he would let her. She shook her head at herself as she dragged on her pants, trying to remember all the logical reasons that telling Bellamy how she felt was a bad idea. 

She moved to leave, but froze in the door, turning around, and before she could stop herself, she bent down to press a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“What was that for?” He asked, smiling up at her.

“You’re just a really good person, Bellamy,” she murmured, “and sometimes I want to kiss you.”

He shrunk back into himself a little, embarrassed at the compliment, and she found herself thinking that she would do anything to bring his smile back. So she kissed him properly to distract him from his own mind, hands twisted in his hair for a moment that felt far too brief. He kissed her back, mumbling something into her lips, and it didn't matter that they were supposed to be just friends, or that they were definitely going to have to talk about it at some point; in that moment they allowed themselves to just _be_. When she moved to stand up, the back of his knuckles brushed against her cheek. His eyes were still closed.

“I have to go to work.” Clarke said quickly, trying to push down the very un-platonic thoughts emerging from the recesses of her mind. 

She disappeared before he could say anything in response, and grabbed the butter from the fridge. 

She made him a couple of pancakes, but she wasn’t hungry; she was never hungry this early in the morning. She finished her single piece of toast, downed her coffee and was about to write a note before ducking out the door when Bellamy appeared. He stumbled, bleary-eyed, into the kitchen and reached for the coffee pot, so she grabbed his outstretched wrist and guided him to the mug of coffee already sitting on the counter. 

“You’re my favourite,” he announced, before sitting down on her couch with his phone and the mug. 

“I know,” she hummed.

“You’re not supposed to say that,” he sang back, his eyes still down at the screen.

“I know that, too,” she said, bending down to kiss him on the cheek before she left.

* * *

* * *

Unfortunately, the easy part of her day ended the second she stepped onto her floor. Octavia approached her with folders in her hands and shoved them at her.

“Um…” Clarke nearly dropped them, but readjusted and looked up at her, confused.

“Ontari seems to have figured out that we’re not talking,” Octavia said through gritted teeth. 

“So she’s making you my liaison between me and Nia instead of her?” Clarke deduced. 

Octavia only nodded before turning on her heel and stalking back to her desk, refusing to even glance back in her direction. 

_“Great,”_ Clarke muttered sarcastically, “Today’s gonna be _awesome.”_

Her gut instinct was right – the morning was full of new case files and signed affidavits and dockets, all delivered by the surly, dark-haired woman who occasionally kicked the desk on her way through. Luckily, around lunchtime, while Octavia was silently sorting through the files on Clarke’s desk while Clarke looked for something on her bookshelf, her day got a little better. 

“Afternoon,” Murphy drawled, “how’s lawyering going?”

“Did Bellamy send you to check on me?” Clarke asked, running her fingers along the spines. She didn’t turn around to greet her friend, so she missed the look of utter loathing on Octavia’s face. 

“What can I say, he worries,” Murphy said, making her chuckle. He flopped down on the couch beside her, putting the chinese food he was carrying on the coffee table, “but actually, today he didn’t have to ask.”

She avoided his gaze, still pretending to look through the books even though she’d found the one she was looking for, “not you too, Murphy, I can’t have _two_ helicopter parents hovering around. Bellamy’s enough.”

“No, I just… I assume your date didn’t go so well. Also, you have to admire my restraint for not making a joke about calling Bellamy ‘daddy’ there, because I _really_ wanted to.”

“I’m so proud,” she deadpanned, ignoring Octavia's loud hiss of disgust. Returning to the matter at hand, she said, “Why would you assume my date was bad?”

“Because you were so twitchy yesterday, and I haven’t seen you like that since-" he cut himself off, remembering that Octavia was also in the room, “and because Bellamy texted me. You know what I mean. I was concerned. So, like a good friend, I’ve come here to console with you about not getting laid.”

Octavia slammed a pile of folders down and stormed from the room, the door swinging noisily shut behind her.

“Oh, thank god, the beast is gone,” Murphy grinned up at her, “now we can talk about what I really want to talk about. So, did you realise you were in love with Bellamy _during_ or _after_ your terrible date with Lexa?”

Clarke flinched but she didn’t deny it. There was no point; Murphy knew her too well.

“Because, I mean, if it was _during_ , that must have been so weird, but if it was _after_ , when he was in your _apartment_ … I can’t imagine what’s worse – realising you’re in love with him while you’re trying to sleep with someone else, or while you’re standing there in the kitchen with him.”

“How about when you’re kissing him on your couch?” Clarke snapped and Murphy’s jaw almost fell off, it dropped so hard. 

_“You didn’t?”_

“I did,” she groaned, and he made room on the sofa so she could flop down next to him. She rested her head on his shoulder, “I told him I wanted to have sex with him, as friends, and he argued, and then I was straddling him and kissing him, and he was being really nice, and sweet, and… it all just sort of… fell into place.”

“Holy shit.” He didn’t sound amused anymore.

“Yeah. So naturally, I immediately jumped off him and freaked out. And of course he was fucking _perfect_ about it, and he kept worrying that it was something he’d done, and he tucked me in bed but I told him I wasn’t letting him sleep on the couch, so he slept in with me.”

“But you didn’t have sex?” 

“Nope.”

“Fucking hell, Griffin.”

“I know.”

“Does he know that you–”

“No.”

“But you’re aware that he–”

“Yeah.”

He paused, appraising her, “So if you love him, and he loves you, why not just go for it?”

“Because it’s not fair, Murphy. To him or me. Cage is still in the picture for one thing, and for another, I need space to work out what I want. What if… what if I don’t really love him and I’m just using him as a coping mechanism?”

Murphy stared at her. “Clarke, you’re my oldest friend, you know that, so you know that I say it with love when I say that _that is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”_

She opened her mouth to respond but he wasn’t done.

“Using Bellamy as a _coping mechanism?_ If that were true you would have ended up hospitalised in the week where you pushed him out, because you would have had a breakdown. If that were true, then you would be following him around, texting him all the time, needing him for validation. Do you need him for validation, Clarke?”

She frowned, “No.”

“No, exactly. So you’re fine. Also, your coping mechanisms are,” he started listing them off on his fingers, “throwing yourself into work; shutting everyone out; and drinking alcohol when things get too hard. Not one of those has anything to do with the floppy-haired-tall-dark-and-handsome-love-of-your-life, so stop beating yourself up over something that isn’t even true.”

“When did you get so wise?” She asked. 

“I’ve always been wise, you just don’t pay enough attention,” he rested his head on top of hers and she exhaled slowly, all the tension she’d been carrying leaving with the air from her lungs. 

Octavia stomped back through, envelopes in hand, “Plan on actually getting any work done today?”

Clarke sighed resignedly, but Murphy looked annoyed. “Plan on not being a bitch today?” 

Octavia crossed her arms and turned to face him, “fuck off Murphy. Just because Bellamy likes you doesn’t mean I do.”

“I don’t give a shit if you like me. You’re acting like a child; shutting your brother and your supposed best friend out just because you have a hunch that they might be lying to you. It’s fucking childish, and if _I’m_ saying that, then you _know_ you’re doing something wrong.”

“Murphy,” Clarke put a hand on his arm, “calm down.”

He shook her off and stood, leering at Octavia, “No. No, I fucking won’t. She’s acting like a brat; she’s gonna get treated like a brat. You can be nice to her and feel bad and apologise, but I’m not.”

Clarke opened her mouth to say something to deescalate the situation when Bellamy strode in. He completely ignored his sister, walking right up to Clarke with a parcel under his arm and a half-eaten bagel in his hand, and sat down in the place Murphy had just vacated. All of a sudden it was hard to breathe, because it was one thing being around him when they were both half asleep, it was another to look at him in the cold light of day and acknowledge that she was very much in love with him.

“Hey Princess,” he put his feet up on the little table and gestured at the mountains of paperwork, “new case?”

“More like _cases,”_ she grumbled, “Nia and Ontari seem intent on making my life miserable.”

“What else is new?” Murphy grinned, turning away from Octavia and waggling his eyebrows suggestively at Clarke. She scowled at him, but he just winked and lay down on the floor in front of the coffee table. She hated that he could see through her like that, that he could see how much she was struggling to deal with her emotions. He started throwing an apple up in the air and catching it, that shit-eating grin still plastered on his face, “so Bellamy, what are you doing here? I thought lunch was my time with the princess.”

Clarke kicked him in the shin, and he barely faltered in his rhythm; throwing the apple up, catching it, throwing it up, catching it. She wanted to kill him. 

Bellamy didn’t seem to notice the nonverbal exchange happening, or if he did, he didn’t give any indication, and he pulled the parcel out from under his arm and put it in his lap. He opened his mouth to explain, and glanced at his sister awkwardly but quickly looked away, and then he ended up staring at Clarke and she felt her cheeks flush. 

“Uh…” he averted his eyes, and Clarke knew he was remembering how it felt to kiss her on the couch, because she was thinking the same thing. She tried to push the memory away, but it was difficult when he was sitting right next to her, his arms brushing against hers, and she wanted nothing more than to talk to him about it, to make sure they were still good. That morning hadn't been awkward, but they were barely awake, and she felt the need to explain her meltdown without somehow letting slip that she was hopelessly in love with him. She also knew that bringing it up when they were sitting in an office with two other people wasn't the best plan. She wished that Octavia would just take the hint and leave, but she’d settled into Clarke’s chair and was pretending to go through cases while _clearly_ eavesdropping. Bellamy fiddled with the tape on the side of the box, “a package came for you, after you left.”

“You went through my mail?” Clarke asked, confused. Her mailbox was in the lobby, so he would have had to find her key and then take the elevator down and find the side room where the wall of little doors was, and that didn’t seem like something Bellamy would do. He respected her privacy too much for that. 

“No, it came to your apartment.”

If looks could kill, Bellamy and Clarke would have died, because Octavia’s eyes were fixed on them maliciously. Clarke tried not to let it get to her, but she felt a pang somewhere in her chest, and she wondered if after all this was over she’d still have a friend to get back, or if this would ruin things between them. Octavia threw down the stapler with a great degree of force and left the room. This time, Clarke didn’t think she’d be back in a hurry. 

She returned her attention to Bellamy, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I was eating breakfast – thank you for that by the way – and someone knocked on the door. When I opened the door, there was no-one there, but this box was on your doorstep.” 

“That’s… odd.”

“Yeah. But here’s the weird part,” he flipped the box over, and instead of having a name and address, the box simply said:

 

**_Clarke Griffin. To be opened alone._ **

 

“Shit,” Murphy sat up, “maybe it’s a treasure map?”

“Maybe it’s a puppy?” Bellamy tried.

“Maybe it’s anthrax?” Clarke suggested. 

“Maybe _you_ need to stop being such a pessimist,” Murphy clapped back, but before she had a chance to retort, he shrugged, “yeah, yeah, I know; pot, kettle. Anyway, let’s open it.”

“I don’t know about that,” Bellamy said warily, “what if it’s something dangerous?”

“Like anthrax?” Clarke quipped, and he rolled his eyes at her. She tried really hard not to smile, but it was impossible when he was staring at her with that disgruntled look, and she felt her cheeks twitching. 

He frowned, “this isn’t funny, Clarke.”

“It’s a little funny,” she teased, and her eyes dropped to his lips, just for a second, but he noticed.

“Clarke,” he growled, and she didn't know if it was because he was mad that she wasn't taking it seriously or if it was because she was blatantly checking him out, “what if it’s from…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to. 

She shook her head, “if it’s from the Wallaces, we’ll deal with it, but I don’t think so. Besides, you two are here–”

“Make that three,” Emori called from the door. She flopped down on the floor next to Murphy, cross-legged, “Murphy texted when he was arguing with Octavia, and I thought I’d come down and stop a war from breaking out, but I see there’s been a far more interesting development. What is that?” She pointed at the box in Bellamy’s lap. 

Clarke knew she was lying – Murphy must have texted Emori about the development with Bellamy, not his sister, and she had come down to see if she was alright – but at least she was trying not to be obvious about it, unlike Murphy, and Clarke appreciated her all the more for it. 

“Guess we’re about to find out,” Clarke said, snatching the box from Bellamy’s lap before he could protest, and yanking the brown paper off it. It fell away, revealing a plain cardboard box. 

Everyone held their breaths. 

She opened it.

Inside, she was surprised to find an envelope, a manila folder full of documents, and a flash drive. 

She glanced up at her friends, but they all looked equally baffled and concerned.

“Doesn’t look like a puppy. Could still have a treasure map though,” Murphy said to break the tension, and Clarke smiled at him gratefully.

She picked up the envelope first, “if the anthrax was going to be anywhere, it would be in here,” she pointed out, right before she ripped it open. 

“Jesus Christ, Clarke, are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Bellamy groaned, dropping his head into his hands. 

“Sorry,” she said consolingly, after she’d confirmed that there was no white powder, “next time I’ll make you open the mysterious package.”

“Next time I’m setting it on fire before you know it exists,” he retorted, letting his hands fall, and she laughed and grabbed one of them with hers. He glanced at her, surprised, but she just leaned against him, playing with his fingers, and unfolded the letter. He realised quickly that she was trying to act unfazed, but that she needed him for support, and he intertwined their hands; one pale flash of skin enveloped in his darker, larger palm. It was comforting and she smiled gratefully at him before she turned her attention back to the words written on the page in neat, sharp cursive.

She read it through, twice, eyes skimming down the page, and she could feel their eyes on her, practically burning through the paper.

“Well?” Murphy prompted.

“Don’t rush her,” Emori elbowed him. 

“What does it say?” Murphy continued, and Emori mouthed an apology to Clarke. 

Clarke pressed her lips together for a moment, before she read it out. 

 

" _Miss Griffin,_

_I know about your arrangement with the Wallaces. Rest assured, this isn’t blackmail, I would never do that to an innocent woman. I know that you are aware of their shady dealings, and that you disagree with the way they conduct their business. I also know about the kind of man Cage Wallace is behind closed doors._

_I’d like to help you._

_Despite my telling you to open this alone, I presume you’ve done so in the presence of, at the very least, Mr Blake, but I suspect also Mr Murphy and Miss Numida. I commend you for that – you will need them if you are to join with me in my crusade against the Wallaces._

_I’ve been watching you, Miss Griffin, and I’m not the only one._

_In this box you will find a file full of information pertaining to the Wallaces and their operations throughout Polis. If that doesn’t convince you to help me, I suggest you watch the video on the flash drive, and then I believe you will._

_If you accept my proposition, meet me at Shallow Valley Café, by the art museum, tomorrow at 1pm._  
_\- A friend."_

  
  


She put the letter down and picked up the USB, but Bellamy shook his head, “I don’t think you should do anything with that before you get it checked for malware, or worse. We don’t know who this person is. They could be trying to lull you into a false sense of security.”

Clarke agreed, “alright, what do you suggest?”

He squeezed her hand, “Raven should take a look at it, make sure it’s not dangerous.”

She thought about it, “do you think there’s any way Raven would take that request and not want more information?”

“No.” He met her eyes, and she knew they were thinking the same thing.

She pulled out her phone. “I guess we’re telling Raven about Cage.”

"You don't have to, we can work something out," Bellamy said, but he sounded about as convinced as she felt. 

She dialled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked this one, because this is where the plot thickens! 
> 
> Who do you think sent the mysterious package? 
> 
> Will Octavia ever stop being bitter, or will it only get worse from here?
> 
> Will Clarke work out how to talk to Bellamy about her feelings?
> 
> All that and more, next time on _GLEE_! ..... no, wait, hang on. 
> 
>  
> 
> _**Teaser for Chapter 15:** Raven finds out what's been going on, and they look at the flash drive. _
> 
>  
> 
> FUN FACT: For Emori's last name, I picked "Numida" because it's an early Latin interpretation of the ancient Greek "nomas" which means nomad:
> 
>  
> 
> _Noun: **Numida** (genitive Numidae); _  
> _1\. a nomad, or wanderer_  
>  _2\. Numidian (person originating from Numidia)_
> 
>  
> 
> I'm probably going to have that be her permanent last name for this and all modern AU fics I put her in, because I really like it. Also "Emori Numida" sounds like a constellation, and I love it because my girl deserves to be written about in the stars.


	15. As Long As You're Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke spends a lot of time when she should be working pining after Bellamy, and Raven finally finds out what's been going on. 
> 
> TW: the end of the chapter gets a bit dark, but nothing worse that the previous stuff, I'm just letting you know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to say a huge thank you to [@clarkgriffon](https://clarkgriffon.tumblr.com/) and [@whateverherfuckingurlisnow-goddammitsaumya](https://hallowsedenmcspooks.tumblr.com/) for listening to my endless whining about this chapter and how much of a frustrating struggle it was to write. 
> 
> For some reason I hated every version of this chapter that I wrote up until I complained about it so much that Saumya made me send her the bit I hated most. She tweaked it for me and then I realised the problem I'd been having with the whole fic, so thank you for my epiphany!!!! (everyone go read her stuff, like [Unrequited](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15712911/chapters/36522489), which is awesome)
> 
> And special thanks to Mira for just generally being awesome all the time, and listening to me when she could be doing much better things with her time, everyone go read her [cute Halloween Bellarke fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16125089), you'll die of an adorableness overdose!

Raven answered after the third ring, “Hey Griffin, what’s up?”

Clarke fidgeted nervously, and Bellamy started stroking her palm with his fingers. She steeled herself. “What are you doing after work?”

She could practically hear Raven’s shrug, “nothing that can’t be cancelled. What are you thinking, girl’s night?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you could come to my office. I got set an anonymous package with a flash drive and we need to make sure it isn’t dangerous.”

“Ah, so you don’t want my _company_ , you just want my _brain_ ,” Raven hypothesized, and Clarke started protesting, but Raven silenced her with a chuckle, “I’m just kidding, I know you love me. Sure, babe, I can swing by later, about seven? I’ll bring my laptop, you supply the food?”

“Deal,” Clarke said, and Raven rang off. She slumped against Bellamy, “she’s coming by after work. That gives me five hours to finish the paperwork for this deposition, and then make some kind of headway on the four new cases that have been dumped on me today. I hate my life.”

He chuckled and slung his free arm over her shoulders, “Lucky for you, today is my day off, so I can stay here and help.”

“So can we,” Emori said, gesturing at herself and Murphy. 

Clarke shook her head emphatically, “No, c’mon, I can’t ask you to do that–”

“You didn’t,” Bellamy pointed out and leaned forward to press a kiss to her temple, “we offered.”

Clarke pretended not to see the wide-eyed looks Murphy and Emori were shooting her, and instead turned to Bellamy, “You’re not gonna let me refuse, are you?”

 _“Nope,”_ the three of them said in unison. 

“Fine,” she seethed, but she was nodding, “who wants to run through this box of hearings and pull out all the ones from December tenth, 2009?”

Murphy grabbed the box, “I’ll do it. I’ve seen Clueless; if Cher Horowitz can get the hang of it, I can.”

Emori scoffed, “Really, _that’s_ the reference you went with?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of Legally Blonde quotes up my sleeve too,” he grinned and dragged the box towards him on the floor, flicking through the pages. 

Clarke handed a stack of papers to Emori, and offered a book of by-laws to Bellamy, “I figured you’d be more likely to spout lines from–”

Murphy interrupted her, waving a hand lazily, “Lawyers are the devil’s ministry.”

“– _Devil’s Advocate_ , holy shit how did you know I was going to say that?” Clarke gaped.

“I’m just that good,” Murphy winked.

* * *

* * *

They spent the afternoon like that, joking and working and swapping files. At one point, Clarke draped her legs over Bellamy’s lap and he put a book on her knees, highlighting parts of it and cross-referencing it with the casefile she was holding. 

He was still holding her hand, hadn’t let go since she arrived, and she occasionally caught Murphy and Emori staring at them and then exchanging loaded glances. She wanted to chew them out for it, but she didn’t feel like she could while Bellamy was there, so she stayed quiet.

Every half hour or so, Octavia flew back in, deposited something, or relayed a message from Ontari, and spun back out again, a hurricane of fury, only made worse once she saw how they were sitting. After that, she didn’t even look at them, just threw things down or yelled from the door. 

Every time she did, Bellamy tensed, like he wanted to argue, but Clarke only had to squeezed their entwined fingers for him to calm down. 

Clarke was getting more and more anxious about telling Raven what had really been going on. She was worried that Raven would hate her for lying, or even worse, that she’d try and go after Cage. She knew she was smarter than that, but she’d also seen Raven when her friends were threatened, and she didn’t want to risk it. A worried pit was starting to form in her chest, heat emanating from it, curling through her veins, and she tried to ignore it and focus on her work. 

As seven approached, along with Raven’s imminent arrival, Murphy and Emori offered to go pick up the take out, and disappeared. Clarke knew they were only going so that Murphy could fill Emori in on what she’d told him, but she didn’t mind. It gave her a moment alone with Bellamy. 

Which was turning out to be more of a curse than a blessing. 

_Again._

Except it was worse now, because she actually _knew_ how much she wanted him. He frowned down at the page he was scanning and Clarke’s heart skipped a beat at the small crease between his brows and the way his nose crinkled slightly as he concentrated. She tore her eyes away to refocus on her actual job, but she was finding it hard, because he kept absentmindedly tapping his pen against her knee, drawing her attention right back to him. 

She was in the middle of glaring at her closing statements like they were the reason she was frustrated, when he sat up a little, clearing his throat.

“Hey, we’re good, right?” He asked hesitantly. 

She raised an eyebrow at him.

He winced, “I mean, just… we _kissed_. We… it was… nice.”

She tried not to show her amusement, _“Nice?”_

His ears were turning pink, “Yeah, it… you know what happened, you were there, I just, I want to make sure we’re still okay. I know you got upset, but–”

“That had nothing to do with you,” she said softly, “that was all on me.”

He huffed, readying himself to disagree with her interruption, “Clarke–”

“I mean it Bellamy,” she said sternly. “Not your fault.”

He pressed his lips together, clearly biting back an argument, “Fine. All I’m asking is… we’re still friends, right? You don’t feel uncomfortable around me?”

He looked so upset at the prospect, and she couldn’t help the goofy smile that spread across her face. She shuffled a little closer so she could rest her chin on his shoulder, and he twisted a little so that he could still see her without going cross-eyed. 

“Bellamy my legs have been in your lap for three hours. Does it really seem like I’m uncomfortable?” He looked down at her knees as if he’d only just realised they were there. While he was distracted, she lifted a hand into his hair. He froze, and she scratched at his skull - the way she liked her own hair stroked - and she could see him relaxing, if a little reluctantly. “One of these days, you’re going to have to stop freaking out about everything.”

He shot her a disgruntled look, “I know I’m being overprotective again, I just… I wanted to make sure.”

“You’re my best friend Bellamy. If I’m not comfortable with you, I’m never going to be comfortable with anyone. If I’m not comfortable with _you_ , I’m… I’m–”

“If you say broken, I’m going to have a stroke,” he quipped, and she left her mouth open just long enough for him to notice before she thought to close it. He sighed, “how many times do I have to tell you that you’re not broken before you believe me?”

She shrugged, leaning forward to press her face into the crook of his neck so that he couldn’t see the gooey-eyed expression she was suddenly wearing. 

He brought his arms up to hug her, and she cuddled into his side a little more. She knew she shouldn’t, but the rise and fall of his ribs was soothing, and she wanted him; for as long as he was in her life, for as long as he was willing to stay, she wanted to be by his side. She used to be scared of a commitment like that, but she wasn’t anymore. Not with Bellamy. She knew that even if they were never together romantically, or even if they were and it ended, that Bellamy Blake would stick by her side. They would always be together in one way or another. He brushed his lips against her hair and she couldn’t help nuzzling into his neck a little in response, her pulse fluttering. Her other hand slid up his chest until she could feel his heartbeat, and she heard his slight intake of breath. It was comforting to know that she wasn’t the only person affected by their proximity.

“You’ve got such a big _heart_ , Bellamy,” she murmured, more to herself than anything else, but he heard. She kept talking, “you hide it well. I didn’t like you at first, but… now I know better, and it’s _so clear_ , just how much you _care_ about everyone but yourself. And I don’t know why you’re taking care of me, because all it’s doing is causing you pain. It’s ruining your relationship with your sister, and it’s putting you in danger, and it seems like you don’t even care.”

“Of course I don’t, as long as you’re safe,” he grumbled, like the mere suggestion otherwise was ridiculous. 

“Which is exactly why I should. I should care enough, I should be selfless enough to tell you to leave me behind, to walk away and not look back, but I… I _need you_ , Bellamy. Not in the literal sense, not even in a co-dependent way, I just… I wouldn’t have made it this long without you, and I want you in my life because you’re the only person I trust with the worst of me, and because I’m selfish.”

“You’re not,” he kissed just above her eyebrow and she responded by brushing her lips more purposefully against his neck before sitting up and meeting his eyes. 

“I’m not saying it because I want you to reassure me. I… You have to promise me Bellamy, that if things get bad, you’ll walk away. You won’t retaliate, you won’t put yourself in danger, for me or anyone else. You have to promise me,” she ordered, her palms moving to cup his cheeks, to keep his gaze on hers, not that he was trying to look away. He was barely blinking, he was staring so hard into her eyes, that inscrutable expression in them again. 

“I can’t promise you that, Clarke.”

“No, listen to me,” she snapped, tears welling, “I _cannot_ lose you too, Bellamy. Not after putting you through all this, not after everything we’ve been through. I’ll put _myself_ in the firing line before I risk losing you. Please, promise that if anything bad happens, you won’t make yourself a target.”

He swiped a thumb across her cheek, collecting the tear that fallen and wiping it away while he considered her words. 

She pressed her palms against his jaw a little harder, but he didn’t say anything. 

“Please, Bellamy,” she pleaded. _“Please.”_

“Okay, okay,” he said reassuringly, thumb still stroking her cheek, “I promise.”

She drew in a shaky breath and he leaned forward until their foreheads were touching, radiating that cooling calm she loved so much. 

“Get a room you two,” Murphy said as he strode in carrying armfuls of Chinese takeout, and Clarke sat back so she could throw her pen at him. Bellamy’s arm was still around her waist, so she didn’t stray too far from his lap, she just turned so her feet were on the floor, and their thighs were pressed together.

“We have a room, it’s this one. Not my fault you can’t knock. What if you’d come in and we were naked?”

Murphy snorted, “well, first of all, I don’t believe for a second that you would have sex with Bellamy during work hours, in your office; you’re way too much of a goody-two-shoes for that, no matter how much you wanna jump his bones. Secondly, who says I wouldn’t just join in?”

She made a face. _“Ew.”_

Murphy pretended to be offended, pouting, “Clarke, don’t be like that! Why let all this chemistry go to waste?”

“You’re my oldest friend; that would be like sleeping with my brother.”

He smirked, and she knew something terrible was coming. 

She was right. 

His grin widened as he spoke, “You’re right, why settle for a brother when you have a _daddy_ right there?”

Clarke’s nostrils flared. “I’m going to murder you.”

Murphy cackled.

Bellamy groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, and Clarke rolled a stack of paper up and stood to bat Murphy on the head with it. It didn’t stop his laughter, but it made her feel a little better. 

“You told Murphy?” Bellamy asked apprehensively.

“Yeah,” Clarke was still glaring at Murphy, rolled up file still raised in case he tried to make another comment, “but in my defence, it’s not like I have a lot of people I can go to for guy problems at the moment.”

“Problems?” Bellamy echoed, just as Emori and Raven burst into the office. 

Emori took one look at the scene and uttered a good-natured sigh. “What did he do?”

“He tested my patience,” Clarke grumbled, whacking Murphy again.

“That’s just his brand,” Raven said offhandedly, closing the door behind her and leaning on it, managing to look effortlessly beautiful in the process. She raised her eyebrows at all of them, “so, what’s the secret you’ve all been keeping from me? I’m not going to extort it out of you, but I’d like to think that you trust me enough to tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s not that we don’t trust you, Raven,” Clarke started, and her stomach started clenching uncomfortably. 

“Whatever it is, I know you’ve been hiding shit. And I’ve been letting it go, because I assumed you were going to tell me at some point, but now you’re getting mysterious packages and Octavia looks pissed.”

“Octavia’s pissed because she’s a bitch,” Murphy drawled. 

“Hey,” Clarke snapped, “don’t.”

“Sorry,” he raised his hands in surrender, “what I meant was; Octavia’s pissed because Clarke’s spent the last four hours in Bellamy’s lap.”

Clarke opened her mouth to retort, but he was right even if he was being a dick about it, so she changed tactic and turned back to Raven. “It’s… something happened and the only people who know are the people in this room, and if I tell you, I need you to promise me that you won’t tell anyone else, and _especially_ that you won’t tell Octavia.”

Raven considered the request for a moment, and Clarke took a shaky breath, digging her fingernails into her thumb. Bellamy immediately stood and moved up behind her, slipping his fingers through hers, and scooping his other arm around her waist. She knew what he was doing, that he was trying to distract her, and she let him; heartrate becoming steadier as he pulled her gently against him.

“Okay,” Raven said finally, crossing her arms and tapping her elbow thoughtfully, “I won’t say anything. What’s going on?”

Murphy and Emori looked to Clarke, and Bellamy squeezed her hand. She bolstered herself and looked her friend in the eyes. 

“A month ago, Cage Wallace,” Clarke swallowed, “assaulted me outside The Dead Zone.”

 _“What?”_ Raven pushed off the door towards them and Clarke instinctively moved back a little. Bellamy dropped her hand and slid another arm around her waist, tucking his chin against the crook of her neck, holding her steadfast. 

Clarke could feel the ghost of that painful fire creeping across her chest, catching in her lungs.

“That night he came out with us, he got possessive and pulled me into the alley and…” she gripped at Bellamy’s forearms.

“Hey,” he murmured, “you good?”

She nodded, “and he tried to rape me. He failed – I smashed a bottle over his head and ran away, and Bellamy found me. I was a mess, and when Cage tried to get to me, Bellamy put himself in the way. He didn’t even like me, but he still punched Cage for trying to touch me. He drove me back to Octavia’s, because I was terrified that if we went back to mine, Cage would be waiting for me. Bellamy took care of me, he’s been... I couldn’t have done this without him. He, Murphy and Emori all decided to help me get through the last two months of this contract my mother had with Dante.”

Raven looked surprised, but barely, and the realisation was starting to dawn. She was mentally running over the events of the last month, putting it all together in that hyperintelligent brain of hers. 

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because I know you, _all of you;_ you’d want to help.”

“Damn right we would,” she hissed. 

“And it’s _the Wallaces,”_ Clarke said, eyeing her meaningfully, “and I couldn’t risk anything happening to any of you.”

Raven considered it for a few more seconds before, “are you okay?”

Clarke offered a half-smile, “I’m fine.”

She waited for Bellamy to jokingly demand his money, but instead he just dropped his head so that his forehead was on her shoulder, grumbling something about, _“the amount of times you’ve used that phrase, I swear you do it to annoy me.”_

Which, if she was being honest with herself, she was a little. 

Raven nodded, “alright. I want to help. Where’s this flash drive you need me to vet?”

Clarke led her over to her desk and let her take her chair, choosing to lean over her shoulder instead. Bellamy hovered to her right, and Murphy and Emori slid in to her left, all of them standing over their friend as she plugged the USB into a device that none of them recognised and hooked it up to her laptop.

There were a few minutes of semi-awkward silence while Raven ran diagnostics and tapped seemingly endless rhythms on the keyboard, but eventually she sat back with a self-satisfied grin.

“Alright Griffin,” she said, cracking her knuckles to relieve the tension she’d built up from all the typing, “flash drive is clear, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

She opened the drive file, and found that the only thing on it was a single video, the small icon dark against the white light around it. She looked up to Clarke for approval, who only nodded, her eyes locked onto the screen. Everyone leaned closer as she clicked on it, nervous and expectant. 

When the video started, Clarke wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this. 

The camera was clearly mounted against a wall, facing into an alleyway. The footage was dark, but there was enough light cast against a familiar door in the center of the frame that she felt her heart drop into her shoes. 

Because she knew _exactly_ what this video was.

The door flew open so hard it hit the wall and bounced back, and Cage appeared, dragging her behind him, and she watched herself glancing around the alley, remembering the blanket of fear that had washed over her as she realised that they were alone just in time for the back of Cage’s hand to collide with her cheek. She watched as he pushed her against the wall, watching her head hit the bricks and his forearm ramming into her throat. 

She couldn’t breathe. 

She was right back there, feeling it as he cut off her oxygen, as he hissed in her ears, called her a whore. 

“Fuck,” she heard someone mutter, and she realised it was Murphy, standing to her left, his hands balled into fists at his sides. 

The audio on the footage was bad, so she couldn’t hear the words Cage was muttering to her, but she remembered them.

__

_“Whore.”_

_“You embarrassed me tonight.”_

_"You’re nothing.”_

_“I think you need to be taught a lesson.”_

She remembered begging him to stop, and knowing he wasn’t going to.

She watched herself struggling against him, scrabbling at his arm, trying to shove him back, but she could see from the shot the camera had that she didn’t have a good enough angle to get him off. She watched him rake his hands down her sides, watched his fingers yanking at her hair, watching him grab her breast. 

Bellamy made a strangled noise to her right, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She was helpless to do anything but stare at the screen as Cage started undoing his belt, as she reached for a bottle that she knew was too far out of her grasp. 

Clarke wanted to be sick. 

Raven’s arms were crossed over her chest, fury rolling off her in waves, and Emori was crying, she could hear it, but all Clarke could do was watch. 

She watched herself tell Cage that she wasn’t flirting, and she heard his answering laugh, bitter and cutting, and it made her heart pound unpleasantly against her ribs. He must have started talking louder, because his words were clear now despite the faint music, and Bellamy was getting more and more rigid at her side; angrier with every word. 

_“Do you think I’m stupid?”_ Cage scoffed, as he wrenched her dress upward.

 _“Once I’m done with you, Clarke, maybe you’ll finally get it through your head that you’re mine. No-one else’s – MINE.”_ He dropped his trousers a little, something she hadn’t noticed at the time, and her throat felt like it was closing. 

And then she heard it. 

The worst moment of the whole video. 

She heard herself, the fear and weakness in her voice as she choked the words out, _“Please don’t.”_

Bellamy was clutching the back of Raven’s chair so hard that his knuckles were bone white, every muscle in his body so tense that he was shaking.

She watched as she pretended to fall unconscious, and she felt the same sick feeling of dread in her stomach that she had done then when she watched him notice and still not slow down. She felt, rather than heard, Bellamy’s sharp intake of breath as Cage’s fingers wrapped around her panties.

Then she saw her own eyes fly open over Cage’s shoulder, saw the determination there. She watched as she shoved him and darted to the right, picking up a bottle and swinging it. She heard the satisfying crack it made as it collided with his skull, and the sound of her heels against the floor as she turned to run. 

She watched him catch her ankle, tripping her. The slam of her own knees against the concrete made her jump, and his yank at her dress over her back, already scratched from the bricks, made her shudder. When she kicked him and he fell back, she stumbled to her feet and sprinted to the door, wrenching it open and disappearing from view. 

Cage was pushing himself up on his hands and knees, bleeding from where the bottle had hit him, blinking it from his eyes and smearing it across his face when he moved to wipe it away. He zipped his trousers back up, and when he did, she saw the flash of a knife as he pulled it from his ankle, the glint it threw against the light, and tucked it into the back of his trousers. He lumbered back towards the door, hissing loud enough for the camera to pick it up; _“Fucking whore.”_

The video ended with white text on a black screen. 

 

****

**I’M GOING TO TAKE HIM DOWN, AND I WANT YOU TO HELP ME.**  
**HE NEEDS TO GO DOWN FOR THIS, CLARKE.**  
  
  


Her whole body was on fire and she was suffocating in the flames.

Cage Wallace had been intending to kill her that night. 

If Bellamy hadn’t been there, he might’ve. 

If she hadn’t managed to drag Bellamy away when she did, Cage might have stabbed _him._

She felt her knees go weak, and she grabbed Bellamy’s arm to stop herself from dropping to the floor, felt how his muscles didn’t move under her fingertips like they usually did when she touched them. He was as still as a statue, completely rigid and quaking with rage as he stared at the final message on the screen. 

Raven was the first person to break the horrified silence.

“I can’t believe you’ve been living with this for a month and you didn’t say anything.” She sounded distressed.

Emori spoke next, her voice cracked from crying, “I didn’t know it was this bad, Clarke.”

Murphy’s voice was low, and more sombre than she’d ever heard him, “I’m so, so sorry, Clarke.”

She just nodded dimly, waiting for the only person who hadn’t spoken to finally say something. 

It was quiet for a long time.

“I should have hit him harder. I should have killed him for even thinking about laying a hand on you. I should have…” he trailed off for a moment, then, “I’m going to make him pay for what he did to you, Clarke, I don’t care what Dante can do to me. Cage deserves to die.”

And when he straightened up and turned to look at them, there was murder in Bellamy’s eyes, and for the first time in her life, she felt a flicker of fear in his presence. 

Not for herself. 

No. 

She was afraid of what he was going to _do._

She was afraid he was going to get himself killed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading it!
> 
> That was rough to write, but I'm pretty much back on track for the rest of it now, so I should have the next chapter up by Thursday at the latest. 
> 
> I love you all, and your kudos, and your comments, and I hope you're all doing well, despite the angst I keep dumping on you <3


	16. A Name to Place to the Non-Existent Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy pulls away from Clarke after seeing the video in an attempt to avoid upsetting her, which of course upsets her, because she doesn't know why he won't even look at her. 
> 
> A friend of hers drops by, exacerbating the situation slightly. 
> 
> Murphy continues to be the absolute MVP, and they all discuss their plan for meeting with the anonymous package sender.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I know I said it would be up by Thursday, but life got in the way, and also I lowkey forgot how to write for a minute there, but I'm back on my bullshit now! (and by bullshit I mean angsty Bellarke moments, obviously)
> 
> Also, not one, not two, but THREE new characters are introduced in this chapter, and only ONE of them is the anonymous package sender - dun _dun **DUN!**_
> 
> I hope you enjoy this one, I sure enjoyed writing it!

“You _can’t.”_

She said the words with conviction, but she felt detached from herself, from everything. Her mind was right back in that moment, with Cage’s arm cutting off her air and his words in her ears. She was adrift in her own head. 

He stared back at her, his expression set in stone. 

“He can do what he wants to me, Clarke, I don’t care. He has to be punished.” He turned and started walking purposefully towards the door and she snapped back into the moment, finding the momentum to carry her forward.

She threw her back against the door, staring him down. 

“Clarke, you can’t seriously be suggesting we let him get away with this?!” He asked, incredulous.

“No! But someone, the person who sent that footage, they want to help.”

“Yeah? Then why have they been sitting on that video for a month?” He glowered.

“I don’t know, that’s what I plan to find out tomorrow,” she emphasised, putting her hands on his chest to hold him at arms-length. He flinched at the contact. Her voice dropped to a murmur, and she was almost pleading, “You promised me.”

His jaw set and she watched it twitch as he tried to think of a way around it, but he knew he couldn’t argue. He’d made a promise and he wasn’t going to break it, no matter how much he wanted Cage dead. That didn’t make the rage subside, however. 

“If he touches you again, I–”

“–will take care of me,” she finished for him, raising an eyebrow, practically daring him to contradict her. 

He eyed her up for a moment, almost rising to the challenge, before he wilted and took a step back from the door. Her hands fell from his chest and she resisted the urge to fold herself into his arms. She had things to do, and she intended to do them. 

“Okay,” she addressed the room, “so tomorrow, I’m going to that café, and I’m going to meet with the person who sent that package and I’m going to see if their strategy for taking him down is a viable one. If it is, we’ll do it. If it’s not… I just have to make it another month, and I’m free.”

Bellamy moved to lean against a bookshelf, his arms crossed, watching her carefully, and Raven, Emori and Murphy were all surveying her with the same expression, like they expected her to break down in tears at any moment. 

“Clarke, a month…” Emori trailed off.

“Is four weeks,” she said determinedly, “and it’s not ideal, but if that’s what I have to do, then I’ll do it.”

She tried to ignore the fact that Bellamy was standing a notable distance away from her. She’d grown so used to him always having a hand on her back or his fingers through hers that it was more than clear when he was standing deliberately far away. She tried not to think about why that was. 

“Not ideal? Seriously Clarke, that–” Raven was interrupted by the door swinging open, and Clarke spun on her heel to yell at Octavia or Nia for intruding, and instead found herself face to face with someone infinitely more agreeable. 

“Evening, Griffin,” Roan said, flashing her a sly smile as he kicked the door closed behind him and sat down on the arm of the couch.

“Roan,” she grinned at him before turning to the desk, “guys, this is Roan Kingsley. His mother runs this firm, and he likes to hide in my office when Ontari’s around, or when his mother is looking for him.” 

“Today it’s both!” He said, like he’d won a prize, his eyes wandering over her friends. If he was surprised that she even had any, he didn’t show it, he merely said, “and who is _that?”_

“That’s Raven, and she’s too good for you so don’t even think about it.” Clarke instructed, “and that’s Emori, her boyfriend Murphy – who happens to be my oldest friend – and behind you is Bellamy.”

He craned his neck back to see Bellamy, who was trying to keep his expression neutral. When Roan turned back to Clarke, he had a knowing look in his eye, “I’m sure I remember you _hating_ someone called Bellamy…? Oh yeah, I remember now; _Annoyingly-Hot-Bellamy_ – the guy you wanted to have angry, passionate sex with?”

Murphy’s snort was muffled, like he’d tried to contain it with his hand and failed miserably, and she could feel his smug grin turned on her but she refused to meet his eyes. Instead, she just pinched the bridge of her nose and wished the ground would swallow her whole. Bellamy was regarding her with a strange expression, but she could barely look at him. She gritted her teeth, “yep. Yep, thanks for that Roan.”

“I live to serve,” he said sardonically, following it up with an appreciative nod at Bellamy’s physique, “I hope you’ve hit that by now, because if you don’t, I might. Besides, without you bitching about Bellamy and me bitching about my mother, we might never have become friends. And without our friendship, I would never have gotten rid of Ontari.”

“Putting up with you is _so worth it;_ just to piss her off,” Clarke teased back.

Roan rolled his eyes, “please, you love me. Well, parts of me at least.”

Clarke knew there was colour in her cheeks, but she wasn’t sure why she was blushing, because she wasn’t embarrassed. Raven and Murphy already knew she had been sleeping with Roan before he went away, so Emori probably knew too, and she realised that she was worried because _Bellamy_ didn’t, and the odd squirrelly feeling in her gut stretched right down to her toes. Roan was smirking at her like he knew exactly what he was doing, and she found herself praying for a heart attack, or a stroke. 

“Eh, you’re okay,” she deadpanned, “besides, that’s was _months_ ago, where the hell have you been?”

“My mother sent me to France for four months and didn’t give me any warning, so I couldn’t tell anyone before I left.”

“You could have called,” she pointed out.

“I don’t have your number,” he said, 

“You could have _emailed?”_

He chuckled, “fine, you got me; I really liked the isolation. It was nice to forget that I was beholden to my mother and this firm, and just talk with French people and flirt with other law firms.”

“Yeah, talk,” she squinted at him, “I’m sure you did a lot of that.”

“In between the ridiculous amount of sex, yeah, I managed a few sentences,” he retorted, and she laughed lightly, not missing the way Bellamy was glaring at Roan’s back over his shoulder. She wasn’t sure if Roan had deliberately sat between him and Clarke or not, but she wouldn’t put it past him. Roan tilted his head at her, “anyway, I’m more interested in you, Wanheda.”

She groaned, “Urgh, don’t call me that.”

“You know I don’t mean it like that,” he winked at her suggestively, “actually, if I recall, the last time I called you that, you were _quite_ receptive–”

Clarke cut him off, irritated with his playfulness, “I was receptive to what you were _doing,_ Roan, _not_ what you were saying. I hate that stupid nickname.”

He stared at her for a moment, and she almost shivered under the severity of his gaze. Almost.

“I know,” he said, serious all of a sudden. “Look, Clarke, I know it’s not my business, but… are you really involved with the Wallaces?”

She felt the floor drop out from under her again and she nodded slowly as she tried to reclaim her mental standing. 

He grimaced, “I know I’ve been away, but you’ve been a good friend to me, and I’d like to be able to say that I’ve been the same to you. If you need help, with anything – escaping the country, burying a body – whatever you need, I’ll do it.”

Clarke frowned, taken aback. “Really?”

“I don’t like the Wallaces, Clarke, and I know that you hate them, so I know that whatever you’re doing tied up with Cage, you’ve got a good reason. But whenever you need out, I want to help you.” He sighed, waving a hand, “my mother might control my ass, but I’ll be damned if I let anyone control yours. Especially when you’ve got such a nice one.”

“Don’t talk about her like that,” Bellamy said quietly, an edge to his voice that Clarke hadn’t heard since he was sizing up Cage in The Dead Zone. If this didn’t deescalate soon, something really bad might happen, and she wasn’t sure how to diffuse the situation, especially when Roan responded.

Roan made a face, “she’s my friend, I’ll talk about her however I damn please.”

Bellamy pushed off the shelves behind him and stepped forward but Clarke shook her head at him staunchly. “He doesn’t mean anything by it, Bellamy, it’s fine.”

_“Clarke.”_

“Bellamy, seriously, take it down a notch,” Murphy jumped in, “you’re gonna burst a blood vessel if you’re not careful.”

“Hilarious,” Bellamy snapped at him, glaring. 

“The testosterone in here is reaching exhausting levels,” Raven sounded bored, but her gaze was fierce, “Murphy, stay out of it; Bellamy, if Clarke tells you it’s fine, then it’s fine; and Roan, don’t deliberately antagonise Bellamy.”

Roan flashed his pearly whites at her, “I apologise. I can’t seem to help myself sometimes. Especially since I’ve heard so much about all of you and I’ve never met you before. Particularly Bellamy.”

“A lot’s happened since you left, Roan,” Clarke said, her voice soft and her gaze distant, and Roan raked his eyes down her face. 

“I can see that,” he said, tone sombre again. “You good, Clarke?”

She blanched, “God, I wish people would stop asking me that. _I’m fine,_ leave it alone.”

“Yeah, you sound peachy keen,” Roan quipped, and she managed a small smile. He sighed, “Fuck, something’s done a number on you – you look terrible.”

“Thanks,” she said sarcastically.

Roan stood and moved towards her and she couldn’t help flinching away slightly, which made Bellamy tense up again. Roan lifted his hands in surrender and stepped backwards towards the door.

“Sorry,” she muttered, “it’s not you–”

He regarded her with something like sympathy, “it’s okay. If you need me, I’m here.”

“Thanks, Roan,” she said, and she meant it. 

He offered a smile, less enthusiastic than before but just as sincere, and turned to Bellamy. “You,” he pointed, “take care of her. She’s tough, she can handle anything, but if I find out that you’ve hurt her in some way, I will break both your legs.”

“Roan!” Clarke snapped, annoyed at his posturing, but Bellamy wasn’t getting angry like she expected him to. 

In fact, Bellamy kept his eyes locked on Roan’s; narrowed, considering. After a beat, he nodded, “Alright.”

And it was like a mutual respect had sprung up between them, in the space of a glance and a word. Clarke was simultaneously baffled and unsurprised – they weren’t that different really, not deep down.

Roan lazily saluted him before turning back, “take care of yourself Clarke.” He offered a sly wink to Raven as he turned the handle, “It was a pleasure to meet you, Raven.”

“Don’t even think about it!” Clarke yelled to his retreating back, as the office door swung shut behind him. 

“So… that was Roan,” Raven said, purposefully noncommittal. 

“No,” Clarke wagged her finger at her friend, “don’t. Please don’t sleep with Roan, that’s going to be so weird.”

“Why, because _you_ slept with him? I really don’t mind, as long as he’s good in bed,” Raven looked like she was readying herself for an in-depth talk about Roan and Clarke did not want to have that discussion.

“No, because he’s Roan, and he’ll deliberately bring it up. It’s what he does best; he’ll talk to me about it – and I love you, Rae, but I don’t need to hear about what you’re like in bed. It’ll make being friends with you weird, because I’ll constantly be thinking about the fact that you’re apparently great with your tongue, or that you like a specific kink, instead of the fact that you can pull a car apart and put it back together in a matter of hours.”

“I am pretty good at that,” Raven agreed. “But Bellamy and I slept together, and our friendship isn’t weird.”

“Yeah, but you’re not the one who has to be friends with Roan. You’re not the person he talks to about his conquests.”

“Is that what you are to him? A conquest?” Bellamy asked, his tone unreadable. 

Clarke glanced at him, feeling a guilt she didn’t quite know what to do with, “No, that was… stress relief.”

Which she almost immediately recognised as the wrong thing to say, because something in his eyes froze over, and he became cold and detached in an instant. She berated herself internally and was about to clarify her statement when Emori spoke. 

“So what are we going to do about Cage?”

Clarke straightened her blouse, fiddling with the hem, “Tonight, we’re going to go home, get some rest, and try not to think about it. Tomorrow I’m going to come back to work, do my job, and then I’m going to go to that café on my lunchbreak and find out who this anonymous person is and what they want from me.”

“Good, I’m getting really sick of calling them, _‘the anonymous person’._ I’d quite like a name to place to the non-existent face,” Murphy drawled. 

“Sorry, would you prefer I said, _tomorrow I’m going to meet V For Vendetta to discuss his plans for overthrowing the a shady organisation?”_ Clarke shot back. 

Murphy looked at her like she was a genius, “YES, _obviously_ that’s better! Why weren’t we saying that the whole time?”

“Someone should go with you,” Emori suggested, elbowing Murphy to shut him up. Her eyes flicked to Bellamy, who was still staring at the wall with a sour expression. 

Clarke nodded, but she didn’t say anything for a while. She wasn’t _waiting_ for Bellamy to volunteer, but when he didn’t speak up, she felt a pang somewhere behind her ribs. 

“Murphy, you’re good to come with me tomorrow, right?” She said, instead of asking Bellamy to _just look at her, goddammit._

Murphy himself was glaring at Bellamy, but he agreed, “Yeah, course I will Princess.”

Bellamy’s head jerked up at that, matching Murphy’s scowl with one of his own, but Murphy only grinned wolfishly – he’d gotten the reaction he wanted. 

Clarke wanted to roll her eyes at Murphy’s tactics, but she didn’t have the energy, “okay, I’m going home. Thanks for all your help, guys, I really appreciate it.”

She grabbed her bag and headed for the elevator, and she heard someone jogging to catch up. When she pressed the button to summon it and stepped back, she realised it was Murphy. He sighed heavily towards the ceiling. 

“I want it on record that I really want to hug you right now,” he said grumpily, like he was offended at himself for being a gentleman and not hugging her.

“Did… did you seriously just admit that out loud?” She teased.

“Yes, the rumours are true, I am a soft bitch who just wants to be loved,” he retorted, and she laughed. The elevator doors pinged open and he followed her in. Once they were standing side-by-side, he reached his hand out and hooked a few of his fingers around hers, loose enough for her to shake him off. Clarke squeezed them appreciatively and he pressed the button for the ground floor. They stood there for a moment, waiting for the doors to close, and watched Emori, Raven and Bellamy walk together down the hallway. Bellamy’s hands were in his pockets, his head bowed, but as the doors began to slide together, he glanced up, locking eyes with Clarke. The flash of devastation on his face was unmistakable – the panic from seeing the video, the worry, the rage, it was all there, hiding behind that mask – and just before the doors closed, obscuring him from view, she watched it fall back behind that icy wall. 

She knew Murphy noticed too, because his fingers tightened fractionally around hers, although he didn’t mention it, which she was thankful for. 

The next time he spoke, it was in a whisper, barely audible even in the small enclosed space, “You kept downplaying it. You… kept just saying you were fine, and not to worry, and that Cage was handled, and I… I believed you because I saw the way you tore into him the day after it happened. But, _fuck,_ Clarke, how could you _possibly_ be okay?”

“Murphy–”

“I saw what he did to you, Clarke, we all did,” he interrupted, “and you don’t have to talk to me, because I know you well enough to know that you hate talking about the bad shit that’s happened to you; I’m the same, you know that. But… you should talk to Bellamy. You need to talk to someone, and he does too. That man loves you – he nearly snapped that fucking chair in half watching that video, and he looked like he was about to murder Roan for being even slightly suggestive. I’m not saying it’s your job to talk him down, it isn’t; he’s a grown ass man who should be able to control himself. But Bellamy has always had a blind-spot where the people he loves are concerned. He’ll protect them with his life, with no regard for his own.”

“I know,” she whispered, and the elevator stopped moving, doors bouncing open.

They walked out towards the carpark together, and as she went to unlock her car, Murphy stopped her for a second. She frowned at him curiously, waiting for the inevitable quip. Instead, he scratched behind his ear and took a deep breath. “You know I love you, right?”

_Well... That wasn’t what she was expecting._

“Yeah, Murphy. I love you too,” she said, almost wistfully. He shrugged, which turned into him shaking his shoulders like there was something unpleasant on them. She snorted, “that was really hard for you, huh?”

“Shut up,” he grouched. 

“Admitting you _actually care about me_ must be such a burden for you–”

“Shut up, Griffin, you hate it too,” he released her hand, stepping back from the car so she could get in. 

“Yeah, it’s the worst,” she sat down and turned the keys in the ignition, “but at least it's mutual.”

“Whatever, Griffin, I don’t even like you,” he teased, and she waved at him as she pulled away.

* * *

* * *

When she arrived at her apartment, she realised it had been weeks since she’d been there alone. She half-expected Bellamy to emerge from the kitchen, mug of hot chocolate in his hand and that half-smile that he reserved for her on his face. 

He didn’t, and she trudged over to the sink, pouring herself a glass of water and downing it. She was alone again, isolated, her pocket universe shrinking until it was only her again. She drifted past the couch she had spent so much time on the night before and quickly turned away, but it was too late. The sight of it, and the memories that leapt to the forefront of her mind to accompany the sight, sent waves of dejection over her.

She trudged past, thinking of anything but what she really wanted to, desperately attempting to dispel the sensation of Bellamy’s lips against her neck. 

She showered, trying to let the hot water wash off the residual panic from seeing that footage, and scrubbed at her skin until it was red raw. When she was done, she crawled into a bed that suddenly felt far too big, curling under the covers and waiting for sleep to drag her away from her racing thoughts. 

She should have known that sleep wouldn’t make it easier.

* * *

* * *

The nightmares had been severe – Cage attacking her while she watched from afar, powerless to stop him, to help herself. She had screamed and run towards herself, over and over again, but no matter how far or how fast she ran, she never got close enough to do anything. Then they’d morphed into something else. After the fifth twisted rerun of her attack, she looked to her right and found Bellamy watching it with that dark look in his eyes. 

_“Bellamy,”_ she’d whispered, and he turned away from her. 

She’d reached out, but when she touched him he disappeared, reappearing ten feet away. 

It kept happening; she’d try to hold him, to talk to him, and he would vanish, only to appear close by, torturing her with his presence.

 _“Just look at me!”_ She begged, but he never took his eyes off the scene before them; eyes trained on Clarke as Cage shoved her against a wall. _“Bellamy, please!”_

She’d woken up in a sweat, heart racing and heat crawling through her veins. She had to shower again, just to wash the perspiration from her skin.

When she arrived at work, the first half of her day passed in a haze. She sat at her desk and went through the motions, reading through case files and preparing for depositions and court hearings. She barely noticed Octavia’s perpetual scowl, or the occasional buzzing of her phone, she was so focussed on just getting her work done before lunch. 

It arrived sooner than she expected, Murphy turning up at quarter to one, ready to walk her down. 

They left the building, wandering down the street and around a corner, then another. She knew the route – it was almost exactly halfway between her apartment and her office, which probably should have worried her, but she wasn’t surprised. She figured that whoever it was had done their research. 

“I want you to know that if they try anything, I'll kill 'em. I didn’t make the same promise Bellamy did, and I will gladly murder anyone who hurts you, no matter the consequences.” 

Clarke blanched, “thanks, it’s good to know that I’ll be responsible for your death sentence.”

“Nah, I’ve got a great lawyer, I’m pretty sure she can argue it down to 25 to life.” He bumped his shoulder against hers and she snorted and tried to push her nervousness away. 

She was clutching the file from the box in her hand and her phone in the other. She had skimmed through the folder, but it didn’t really have any information she didn’t already know; it was a collection of witness statements from the night Wells died, all of them fabricated, including hers. She presumed the person had sent it to let her know that they knew the incident was covered up, and she wondered for the hundredth time if they were really trying to help her, or if this was all some kind of entrapment to expose her to Dante. 

When they arrived at the café, there was a closed sign in the window, but the lights were on inside, and despite every table being empty. She entered, and the bell over the door jingled merrily and someone appeared at the counter. 

It was a girl, no older than nine, and Clarke recognised her because she’d been working on that wrongful death suit for nearly a month. A young girl whose parents died because of the Wallaces, and Clarke was representing the guilty party. She’d seen her a few times in court, always reserved, sometimes crying. Her heart ached for the girl – she knew what it felt like to be in that position, how hopeless it was. She waited for the girl to hit her or spit at her like she deserved, but instead, all she received was a cheery; “Hey Clarke!”

She swallowed, “Hi Madi. It’s nice to see you again.”

Madi smiled, “Mhmm.”

“I’m _so sorry_ about your parents,” Clarke said sincerely, like she’d been wanting to for weeks, “and I’m so unbelievably sorry that my law-firm is representing the people who killed them.”

Madi frowned a little, “I know. That’s why she brought you here; because they hurt _your family_ too.”

“She?” Clarke asked, and Madi jerked her head in the direction of a corner at the back of the café, mostly out of the view of the window, where she could see the back of someone’s head sitting at a table for two. They moved towards it, but Madi caught her sleeve.

“He has to stay here,” she pointed at Murphy. 

He started to protest but Clarke was nodding, “she’s right. She’s not making you leave the café; you’re just staying a safe distance. It’s what I would do if I were her.”

She heard the woman at the table laugh in agreement, and Murphy glowered. Madi smiled up at him cheekily, “Wanna play Go Fish?”

He grinned and stopped following Clarke, but there was tension in his stance and his fingers hovered at his side, where she presumed he was hiding some kind of weapon. Murphy snatched the deck of cards from Madi’s proffered hand and started shuffling them dexterously, before dealing them out with a flourish. “You’re on, kid.”

Clarke continued her path through the café, and she felt the two pairs of eyes on her all the way there. She reached the table and took her seat opposite the woman. She didn't recognise her, but then, she hadn't expected to.

The woman quirked an eyebrow at her, searching for something in Clarke’s expression, and pushed forward a plate of biscuits. 

“Eat something, you look awful.” 

Clarke assessed them suspiciously and the woman’s face broke into a grin. 

“You’re cautious – _good._ You have no reason to trust me. For all you know I could have poisoned those,” she picked one up and took a bite, “I didn’t, by the way.”

Clarke tentatively took one of her own, but she didn’t lift it to her lips. “Who are you? What do you want? Where did you get that footage from? Why is Madi here? How the hell do you expect to take down a crime family that runs the city like its own personal empire? Why didn’t you approach me sooner?”

The woman laughed again, cold and fast, before she leaned back in her chair, completely at ease. 

“That’s a lot of questions.” She said, casually, like this clandestine meeting was nothing out of the ordinary for her. 

Maybe it wasn't.

“That tends to happen when anonymous packages get hand-delivered to my door,” Clarke said archly. _“Who **are** you?”_ She repeated, more emphatically. 

The woman took a sip of coffee. 

“I’m Charmaine Diyoza. And I think we might be able to help each other.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO.
> 
> THOUGHTS???
> 
> Come and yell at me on tumblr, I'm @talistheintrovert there too, or come and ask about prompts or my fics on my writing tumblr @introvertedtaliswrites. 
> 
> I love all your kudos and especially your comments, you're all lovely, thank you <3


	17. We Can Start With This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Diyoza devise a plan, Murphy tries to be a good friend, and Clarke's week passes in a disjointed state, because she's trying to get on top of her feelings for Bellamy, while sneaking around looking for dirt on the Wallaces, _and_ dealing with the mental fallout from seeing the footage of herself. 
> 
> It's a slightly rough ride, but don't worry, there's lots of Murphy quips to tide you over.

Clarke surveyed Diyoza carefully. 

“Okay. Why do you want to work with me?”

“Why not?”

“That’s not an answer,” Clarke argued. 

Diyoza never dropped that wry smile that implied she knew something Clarke didn’t, “I don’t like the Wallaces and you’re in a good position to take them down; you’re dating Cage, you’re on their legal team, and you hate them.”

“That’s why you reached out to me. But why you,” Clarke leaned forward, folding her arms on the table. 

Diyoza sipped her drink again, “I work at a law firm, as an investigator. _Pramheda_ , you know it?”

“Yeah, it does a lot of the cases that come up against the Wallaces – including Madi’s.”

“Six years ago, a man who worked for the Wallaces approached me; told me he could get me a job at Pramheda if I used it to spy for him. He’d read up on me. He knew I used to be on the police force, and that I was boxed out by the department because I uncovered the fact that the captain was in Charles Pike’s pocket. It didn’t matter that it was evil, what Pike was doing, because blue bloods are supposed to stick together, and outing our captain as corrupt was considered the worst kind of betrayal. At the time, the Wallaces were the lesser of two evils, and our whole city was soaked in it, so I picked them. A few months later, Pike was murdered, and I knew they’d done it but I didn’t care. I started working at the firm, doing some good in the world, investigating criminals again, but it came with a caveat.”

“You had to give the Wallaces a free pass,” Clarke realised.

“Yeah. Or as close to a free pass as I could get them without it seeming suspicious. I had become what I found so despicable when I caught my captain doing it, but I didn’t care because the Wallaces weren’t as bad; sometimes they even do good. Pike spread hate and violence to take over the city, but Dante wants to use his money for development, for healthcare: to take over with his wealth and use violence as a last resort. I thought it was better.” She sighed, “I was assigned a liaison who used to ask me for any information I could provide Dante, and I’ve seen him once a month, every month, for six years. Two years ago it became something… more.”

“You started sleeping with your liaison?”

Diyoza nodded. “Which really shouldn’t have been a problem, except,” she gestured to herself, and for the first time Clarke let her eyes stray from the woman’s face, landing on the slight bulge under her shirt.

“You’re _pregnant?”_ Clarke gasped, all the pieces immediately dropping into place in her head. “Shit.”

“That was pretty much my reaction, yeah,” Diyoza grinned and popped the last of her biscuit in her mouth. “I wasn’t sure I was going to keep it. I hadn’t even told the father, and then… then he was killed. He was on a job for Dante, doing something with Cage, and he died. No-one would tell me what happened, I was just assigned a new guy one day. They didn’t know we were sleeping together, so to them I was just another person they didn’t want on the ledger, in case I folded under pressure. So I did what I do best and I investigated. Apparently, James – that was his name – had a mother who was dying, so he’d started taking more and more dangerous jobs to pay off her medical bills, but she wanted him to get out instead, to take care of her in her last years. It was her dying wish. So he tried. And Cage murdered him for it. He did it without Dante’s approval, on the spot, mid-job. I wasn’t in love with James, not by a long shot, but he was the father of my kid. If Cage Wallace can murder a man for asking to leave to take care of his sick mother, what would he do to _me?_ What would he have done to a kid like Madi if she’d been home the night her parents were killed?”

“Nothing good.”

“Exactly. Dante is bad, but he does some good. When he dies, if Cage takes over, it’ll be like Pike all over again.”

“Okay.” Clarke said decisively, and popped the biscuit into her mouth.

Diyoza surveyed her a moment, almost disbelievingly, before her face fell back into that sly grin, “Good. Now, I think the first plan of attack should be digging up as much dirt on them as possible. We need to know where the skeletons are.”

“We can start with this,” Clarke waved the folder Diyoza had sent to her with Wells’ casefile in it, “because all of this is crap, and I can tell you how it actually happened.”

* * *

* * *

They spent the rest of the hour running through her account of Wells’ death, and Clarke was thankful that Diyoza wasn’t pitying, that she just nodded and then moved on. It made it easier to deal with, like it was something that happened to someone else. 

However, Clarke had to return to work before someone noticed her absence, and Diyoza took her somewhat frantic glance at her watch as a signal that the meeting was over. 

“Shall we meet up here again to update each other on our progress? At the end of every week, say, Saturday lunch time, so… four days from now?” She asked, “I know you don’t do lunches with your mother anymore, so you have a free hour.”

Clarke nodded, and Diyoza stood to walk her back to the door. Madi and Murphy were in an intense game of snap, which Murphy won with a loud cheer, and Madi threw her cards down, a smile hidden under her fake pout. 

Diyoza leaned in, “I’m surprised Mr Blake didn’t come with you.”

Clarke stiffened, “he has work today.”

“That’s never stopped him before,” she pointed out. 

“Murphy volunteered,” Clarke said, and before Diyoza could make comment, she tapped the man in question on the shoulder and he ruffled Madi’s hair and stood up. 

“Bye kid, see you next Saturday,” he said, not even bothering to hide the fact that they’d clearly both been eavesdropping the whole time. 

Madi glanced shyly up at Clarke, “maybe you could play a game next time?”

“Sure kid,” she smiled reassuringly at her, “I’d love to.”

Diyoza nodded a goodbye, Madi waved, and Clarke strode down the street with Murphy glued to her side. 

He was clearly itching to say something, but to his credit, he restrained himself until they got into the elevator. He tapped the railing incessantly, and she was about to demand that he spit it out when he spoke, “Looking into the Wallaces’ affairs sounds… dangerous.”

“I’ll be discreet,” she said, clipped. She didn’t expect Murphy to be the person advocating for inaction, but she knew the video had shaken him. It had shaken everyone. 

“I know, but I think we need a contingency plan, for if you get caught.”

“I won’t get caught.”

“You don’t _think_ you’ll get caught, that doesn’t mean you _won’t.”_

“They’re not suspicious of me. Dante doesn’t know about Cage’s indiscretion, and Cage thinks too little of me to suspect me of digging into his past behind his back. I’ll be fine.”

“Bellamy’s not going to like this.”

“Bellamy’s not my keeper, he doesn’t get a say,” Clarke snapped, and she surprised herself at how annoyed she sounded. She’d been trying to convince herself she was fine all morning, but she wasn’t and she knew it; she was angry at Bellamy, and at herself. He was pulling away from her. He hadn’t so much as texted her since they’d gone their separate ways the day before, and she was getting antsy. She was almost sure that he would honour her request; that he wouldn’t go after the Wallaces. Almost. However, when he wouldn’t even answer a simple text message, it sent her anxiety spiralling that he could be out there doing something idiotically noble.

Murphy grumbled something under his breath, and she whipped her head around to glare at him, just as the doors opened on her floor. He followed her to her office.

“Look, he’s just… dealing with it in his own way. We all are,” Murphy said softly.

Her heart clenched, “I know, Murphy. But I don’t want to do this alone. He said… he said we were in this together.”

“And you are,” she wasn’t looking at him, but she knew he was rolling his eyes, “you’ve just gotta give him a minute to come to terms with the fact that he just watched the woman he loves get violently assaulted, and then that woman told him he wasn’t allowed to retaliate. He’s trying to follow your instructions, he’s just not sure how to be okay right now.”

“I don’t need him to be okay, I just need him to be _here_. I'm not okay either, and I just want... I just want him to be here,” she really needed a drink, or a night off. Unfortunately, when they entered her office, they found Ontari sitting on her desk, arms crossed. Clarke bristled, “what the fuck do you want?”

“Where were you?”

“At lunch.”

“You took a long break.” She was stony-faced and Clarke really wasn’t sure where this was going. 

“I’ll make up the hours. You know that.” Clarke frowned, bemused. 

“Who were you with?”

Clarke’s heart started pounding. Ontari couldn’t possibly know what they were doing… Could she? She straightened, untangling her bracelet while she stared her down, as if it was nothing, “Murphy.”

Beside her, Murphy waved sarcastically. 

Ontari looked incensed, _“And?”_

“And no-one, just Murphy,” Clarke snapped back, “not that it’s any of your fucking business.”

“So you weren’t with Roan?” Ontari hissed accusingly.

Clarke’s heart quietened and she actually laughed. So that was what this was about. Ontari didn’t know what they were up to; she was just jealous.

“Why do you ask?” She was completely at ease now, back in her usual comfort zone of despising Ontari and wanting to get back to work. 

“Because–”

“Because she’s a jealous, petty bitch who has nothing better to do with her time,” the man himself strode in, grinning from ear to ear, and Ontari paled. 

“Roan, I was just–”

“Looking for me, yeah I know. How about the next time you look for me, don’t harass my friends: just call.”

“I did call, you didn’t pick up,” she said, affronted. 

“I know. Weird,” he leaned against the wall, “that I wouldn’t answer your calls. One might get the idea that I don’t want to see you.”

Ontari made a small, high-pitched noise of vexation and stomped from the room, slamming Clarke’s door as she left. 

“God, is anyone in the building capable of closing a door normally?” Clarke wondered aloud, and Roan and Murphy both snorted. 

“Not likely,” Roan joked, then, “sorry. About Ontari. I can’t believe she’s still harassing you about that.”

“Well, she needed a reason to hate me that wasn’t just resenting the fact that I didn’t get here through nepotism despite my name being on the door, and sleeping with you made me an easy target. She’s been in love with you for years.”

“I know,” he looked like he wanted to throw up, “but she’s evil, so.”

“No-one’s contesting that,” Clarke laughed at his disgusted expression. “Besides, if she wasn’t such a bitch, you wouldn’t get to swoop in here like my knight in shining armour.”

“True,” Roan’s eyes sparkled as he grinned at her, but it didn’t send warmth flooding through her like it had so many months ago. Now the only eyes she wanted on her like that were Bellamy’s, and the memory of his lopsided smile in her kitchen flashed through her mind. He seemed to realise that, studying her with a knowing smile, “I’ve got to get some work done and, obviously, avoid my mother. I’ll see you around Clarke.”

After Roan left and Clarke sat back down at her desk to get some work done, Murphy flopped down on her couch and started flicking through a book on surgery. She was tapping her foot anxiously under her desk, and he was occasionally checking his phone and replying to someone, presumably Emori. 

“You’re stupidly in love, huh?” He asked suddenly, and her head shot up. 

“What?” She glowered.

“With Bellamy. Roan was giving you sex eyes earlier and you didn’t even blink. Roan noticed yesterday, I noticed ages ago, Raven noticed, Emori noticed, Octavia’s noticed – although she’s done it in as shitty of a way as possible – I honestly don’t know how Bellamy hasn’t picked up on it yet.”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” she said, tapping the nib of her pen against the edge of her desk, leaving little black dots across the wood. 

“I could just tell him if you want.”

 _“Don’t.”_ She said warningly, stabbing a particularly deep black notch into the mahogany. 

“I’m just saying, maybe if he wasn’t an idiot, and he realised you felt the same way, he wouldn’t be trying to give you so much space.”

“He’s not giving me space, Murphy, he’s ignoring me.”

“No he isn’t, he’s been texting me all day, checking up on you,” he held up his phone at her, shaking it tauntingly, “he really thinks he’s being h–”

“Murphy leave it alone!” She yelled, pressing her pen so hard into the desk that she snapped it in half. “Fuck.”

He sat up, immediately apologetic, and grabbed some paper to blot the black stain spreading out over her desk. “Seriously, Clarke, he’s not ignoring you.”

“Fuck off Murphy.” She growled, and after that, he wisely left the topic alone. She wiped a smudge of ink off her phone, and all she wanted to was to call Bellamy, to talk to him, to hear his voice. But if he was going to pull away from her, then she wasn’t going to reach out. She wasn’t going to force him to do something he didn’t want to do. She had been so sure they were on the same page, but it seemed she had been wrong. Maybe he’d finally seen the video and decided that it was all too much. Or maybe he saw Roan and assumed she was just using him like she and Roan had used each other? Maybe she’d pushed him away? Maybe he did love her, but it just… wasn’t enough?

She stewed in silence for the rest of the day, and when Murphy went home at midnight, for the first time in weeks, she didn’t follow his example. For the first time in weeks, she stayed in her office all through the night, working into the early hours of the morning.

* * *

* * *

The rest of the week passed in a similar fashion; she worked every day, rarely leaving her office, and Emori stopped in on Wednesday, and Raven on Thursday, and Murphy again on Friday. They all gave her the same worried looks, and all of them tried to convince her to take more breaks, to go home and get some rest, but she waved them all off. 

After her public date with Cage on Wednesday night at the latest showstopping musical in all the headlines, she didn’t go home, she just returned to work. Sitting beside Cage for nearly three hours had been agonising, torturous, and she barely registered the plot of the musical, or the tunes they sung, because all her mind kept doing was replaying the footage she’d seen. She spent three hours in panicked silence, unable to open her mouth for fear that she might cry out or say something she regretted, ruining the whole plan. When he saw the paparazzi as they were leaving and pulled her in to kiss her, it took every molecule of strength in her body not to wrench herself away and scream at the top of her lungs, or vomit. 

Everything had shifted again, and her pocket universe had been thrown into chaos. The heat was back under her skin; it seemed to have taken up permanent residence there, and no matter what she did, she could never seem to cool down. She drove back to work and sat at her desk until the early hours of the morning, and when Raven stopped in at lunch, she shrugged off her friend’s concerns. 

This was _fine._

She was _fine._

She was on her way back from Nia’s office, folders in hand, and when she got close to her door, it was a little ajar, and she could hear Murphy on the phone to someone, whispering angrily. 

“ –don’t care what you think is best for her, she’s fucking killing herself over this. She’s working herself into the ground again to try and cope, and you’re the only one who convinced her not to last time.” Murphy paused a moment and Clarke knew who he was talking to now, so she slowed down to hear more, “get the fuck off your high horse, Blake, you don’t know what’s best for her… _Yeah, actually_ I do. And it’s _you,_ you fucking idiot… _Yes, it is._ Look, I don’t care what you think, all I know is that staying away from her isn’t helping. She’s coping on her own, but her coping mechanisms fucking _suck,_ and you’re better at telling her that than the rest of us. She listens to you.”

Clarke couldn’t bear to listen to anymore, so she made a point of loudly tapping the door open wider with her foot as she entered, moving to her desk and sitting down like she’d done every other time she returned to her office after a meeting with Nia. 

Murphy glanced at her, and whispered harshly down the phone, “because she’s my best friend and I owe it to her to be here for her. What are _you_ doing?”

He hung up the phone and launched it across the room. It bounced a few times but he didn’t even look at it, he just ran his hands through his hair in frustration. 

She raised her eyebrows at him, “you good, Murphy?”

His eyes flicked up to her briefly, “yeah, me and Emori just got into an argument, that’s all.”

It was cute, the way he was lying to spare her feelings, but it still stung – whatever Bellamy had said must have sounded pretty bad if Murphy didn’t even want to tell her who he was really on the phone to. 

It was getting late, and he glanced at the clock, “I’m gonna go home, get some rest. You should too.”

“I’m fine, Murphy,” she said distractedly, flicking through her drawer for a file she seemed to have misplaced. 

“Sure thing, Princess.” He said quietly, more to himself than anything else, and she tried to ignore the pang she felt at the familiar nickname. Murphy had always called her it too, but lately it had become something she only wanted to hear from Bellamy.

“See you tomorrow.” She called to his retreating back, and he flipped her off as he walked away; their usual goodbye. Maybe not everything had changed.

* * *

* * *

At Shallow Valley Café, at 1pm, Clarke arrived with Raven, walking in the door without hesitating at the closed sign, and walked up to the counter. Madi ran out from the back, beaming, and Clarke couldn’t help but feel a little guilty – part of her job this week had been working on dismissing Madi’s case, and she hated herself for it. She wished she didn’t have to. Perhaps soon she wouldn’t. 

“Diyoza’s out the back, she’s just paying the delivery guy. She got Indian and Chinese, and fries for me because I don’t like spicy things,” Madi said, and she was still chattering away when the bell over the door rang again, and Murphy, Emori and Bellamy walked into the room. 

Clarke hadn’t seen Bellamy since Tuesday, and she wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t for him to look as wrecked as he did. His hair looked limp and unkempt, and the bags under his eyes were far more prominent than she’d ever seen them. He looked as bad as she felt. 

When his eyes fell on her, something behind them shifted, and he quickly looked away. 

She tried to swallow the pain it caused her; the fact that he couldn’t even look at her... it shouldn’t inhibit her ability to do what they came here to do. She could handle it. 

Diyoza emerged from the back, a bag of takeaway in each hand. “Good, you’re all here. If you’ll take a seat, Clarke and I will explain the plan, and then I'll explain why it’s not going to work.”

Clarke whipped her head around, _“What?!”_

“We’re going to have to think of something else.”

“Like what?” Raven asked, stepping forward. 

Diyoza sighed, and there was something like regret in her eyes, “I think we need to take the fight directly to Cage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually finished one within my week deadline! Whoo!!!
> 
> What did you think?
> 
> What do you think Diyoza's new plan is? 
> 
> What's going on with Bellamy?
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it and if you made it this far, I love you and I respect you. Thank you for all the kudos, and especially the comments - you're all angels. <3


	18. Get On Board Or Get The Hell Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diyoza comes up with a new plan and there is some....... contention about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually finished this really early into my week deadline, like, a few days after the last chapter posted, but my life suddenly got busy and I kept not having time to post it, and then I decided I hated it and had to make my friends read it to make sure I was just going crazy and I didn't have to rewrite the whole thing again. Luckily, I have great friends who put up with my neuroses! 
> 
> This one's got a little bit of a Hakeldama vibe to it, but where Clarke is the one left behind, not Bellamy; y'know, like Praimfaya, *cough* and the whole of season 5 *cough*. 
> 
> I hope you like it!

“Sit down, eat something, then I’ll explain,” Diyoza said patiently.

Clarke crossed her arms, “no, explain now.”

Diyoza tilted her head at her, and her voice was softer this time, but no less commanding, “Clarke, please eat something.”

Clarke opened her mouth to argue again, but the way Diyoza was holding herself stopped her. The worried look, the hard stance, and the hand resting protectively on her belly; it was motherly concern, and Clarke hadn’t seen that in a while. So she simply nodded and grabbed a container of fried rice, tucking into it. 

Her friends followed suit, and soon they had pushed a few small tables together to create a larger space and were sitting around it, eating in silence while they watched Diyoza carefully. They might trust Clarke’s judgement, but that didn’t mean they weren’t suspicious of the woman. In their defence, it was an incredibly bizarre situation; they were in an empty cafe with an investigator and a child, sitting around eating take-out while they got ready to discuss their plan to take down a powerful crime family from within. It was understandable to be a little wary. The only person who didn’t seem remotely bothered was Murphy, who just kept trying to drag people into conversation. He worked his way around the table, starting with Raven on his left, but no-one was responsive until he got to Madi, who was sitting next to Clarke, across from him.

He started asking her if she’d ever done anything sneaky, which devolved into him telling her tales of his exploits as a teenager, while Clarke kept interrupting with clarifications and scolding him when he started telling stories not fit for a nine-year-old’s ears. Madi was enthralled, head bouncing between the two of them, just as interested when Clarke talked as she was with Murphy’s dramatic tales. 

“This isn’t fair, she likes you better and you’re not even trying,” Murphy complained, and Clarke rolled her eyes. 

“Maybe I’m just better than you.”

“Not likely,” he teased. He glanced at Madi, “have you ever been shoplifting?”

Clarke threw a spring roll at him, “Don’t encourage her to do something illegal! You need to reign it in, Atë.”

“Did you just call me the _goddess of mischief?”_ He asked, not sounding bothered at all by the implication.

“Yep.”

“Excellent,” he said, “that makes Madi my litae, which means she has to follow me.”

“Actually, they followed Zeus, he just told them to follow Atë to clean up her messes,” Clarke corrected, and Murphy reached over and flicked Madi’s nose, which she responded to by sticking out her tongue.

“You’re Zeus, I presume?” He asked Clarke.

“Hell no, Zeus stuck his dick in everything,” Raven interjected, faltering a little when she realised what she’d just said in front of a nine-year-old, but quickly readjusting once she realised Madi didn’t care, “Clarke’s more of a Demeter, or an Athena.”

“Or a Persephone,” Bellamy said softly, but no-one seemed to hear him but Clarke, who flushed, although she wasn’t sure why. 

“Who’s Raven then?” Murphy asked, challenging her with a raised eyebrow and a cheeky grin.

“Easy: Hephaestus,” Bellamy answered before Raven could get there, rolling his eyes, and they heard him this time.

“She’s not horribly disfigured,” Clarke pointed out, and Bellamy didn’t even glance her way when he answered. 

“She’s injured though, and she’s a genius, and her work is respected by everyone.”

“Who am I?” Emori asked, and it was like Bellamy was waking up, becoming more alert as the conversation went on; like he’d been asleep for a week and this was his alarm. It made sense – he was the only reason any of them knew anything about mythology in the first place. It was his wheelhouse, it was the thing he got worked up about when watching movies, and it was the thing he talked casually about in day to day conversation, like it baffled him that no-one else knew the things he did. 

Bellamy waved a hand and Clarke noticed that it had bandages wrapped around it, but before she could ask why, he answered Emori’s question, “Easy, Hermes; god of thieves and travel – sums you right up.”

“What about Bellamy?” Madi asked shyly, “who is he?”

“He’s Ares, or Poseidon or something,” Raven waved an arm lazily, but she hadn’t finished before almost everyone was shaking their heads. 

“Nah, Bellamy’s Hades.” Murphy said, and Emori offered her hand for him to slap it, nodding in agreement. 

Raven frowned, “how? He’s evil.”

Bellamy sighed, exasperated, but before he had time to list off all the reasons she was wrong, Clarke got to it first. 

“No, he isn’t. He’s misunderstood. People assume he’s the villain because the stories Hollywood tells are in favour of Zeus, but he wasn’t ever really evil in the original mythology. Hades is kind, and punishes people who do things wrong, and he’s fair, up to a point. He’s got a temper, but he’s not evil. He loves his wife, and he lets her have the freedom to be who she is, because he understands her, so she loves him back, and she keeps coming back to him, even when her mother begs her not to.”

There was a small pause while her words sank in, and she could feel Bellamy’s sudden investment in the way he leaned forward slightly, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him, instead staring across the table. Murphy met her eyes and his softened immediately. 

“Plus, Bellamy’s got the whole look going on,” he added, “dark hair, brooding, really likes dogs.”

“Fuck off, Murphy,” Bellamy said lightly, making Madi laugh, and the tension dissipated somewhat, but Clarke felt tenser than ever. 

Which was only made worse when Murphy broke the comfortable silence with;

“How was your date with Cage on Wednesday?”

Clarke stiffened.

“Murphy what the fuck?!” Bellamy and Raven snapped at the same time, but when Clarke glanced up at him, Murphy had a glint in his eye. 

She put her fork down. “It was fine.”

He snorted, “your definition of fine must be different to the rest of the world’s, Clarke, because I’ve seen you handle more shit than a person should ever have to, and you won’t even talk about it. Like it’s nothing.”

“What do you want me to say, Murphy? That it sucked? I figured that was implied,” she retorted.

“Clarke, you haven’t slept in days, you barely eat, and when Raven saw you the morning after your date with Cage she called me and said, and I quote, _‘she looks like a ghost; what the fuck am I supposed to do with a ghost version of Clarke? How do I cheer her up? What would Bellamy do?’_ at which point I suggested calling Bellamy, because, y’know, he exists, and weirdly, he refused to come down and help.”

_Ah._

_That’s_ what this was about. 

He wasn’t asking about Clarke; _he was calling Bellamy out._ Clarke tried to communicate her silent thanks with just her expression, and he tipped his head forward in acknowledgement, before turning to stare directly at the man in question. Bellamy was sitting as far away from Clarke as he could be, and had been since they arrived, but now he seemed even further away somehow, and he was gripping his fork so hard it looked like it might snap. Yet he was continuing to eat as if he hadn’t heard what Murphy said; staring down at his food and bringing forkfuls up to his mouth in a stiff, halting rhythm that betrayed his true feelings. 

“Why’s that, Bellamy?” He asked, voice casual, but his eyes burning sharply into Bellamy’s side. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said steadily.

“No, actually, I want to know that too,” Raven joined in, “why haven’t you been there for Clarke this week?”

Murphy crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, in total control of the situation and thriving in the disaster he was creating. “She needs you now, arguably more than ever, and you just, what, abandon her? Why?”

He pushed his food away and glared over at Murphy, “you _know_ why.”

“Yeah, I do,” he said, like a challenge, “why don’t you enlighten the one person who actually needs to hear it?”

Bellamy swallowed, hard, his adam’s apple shifting noticeably as he steeled himself, right before he let his eyes flicker over Clarke, just for a moment, before they locked back on Murphy again. 

“Leave it alone, Murphy,” he said, low and menacing, and Murphy looked like he was about to start a fight: becoming a hurricane before Clarke’s eyes.

“I can’t possibly think of a worse time to explain why our plan isn’t going to work, so I guess I’ll do it now,” Diyoza interrupted coolly, folding her arms over her belly and surveying the group. Murphy froze, but he didn’t try to continue, so Diyoza pushed forward, “Clarke’s information has been very helpful – their business is certainly a problem that needs to be remedied – however, at the moment, everything only circumstantially ties back to the Wallaces. It’s how they’ve run so well for so long; nothing ever leads directly back to them. In order for us to use any of the information we’ve gained, we need one of the Wallaces to actually attach themselves to the crimes.”

“How do we do that?” Emori asked the question they were all thinking. 

“We need them, or more specifically, Cage, on tape. We need him confessing to a crime; a big enough crime to put him away for a long time. We need him to confess direct involvement in the Wallaces’ business. If we’re ever going to get them, we need a confession.”

“What are you suggesting?” Emori looked alarmed, like she’d already worked out where Diyoza was going, and Clarke felt something niggling at her, like she might know too. 

Diyoza sighed resignedly, “I’m suggesting we need to draw them out. I’m saying we need to put Cage in the firing line for once. I’m saying–”

“You’re saying you want me to provoke him into confessing,” Clarke finished for her. 

The whole room seemed to be holding its breath.

Diyoza looked at her with that same sad concern as earlier, and Clarke knew the answer before it fell from her lips. “Yes.”

The room erupted. 

Murphy was immediately on his feet, pacing the length of the café and back, flicking a switchblade between his fingers. Madi was staring up at Clarke with wide eyes, and Clarke pushed her food away, appetite gone. Raven was arguing with Diyoza and Bellamy and Emori joined in with her, talking over each other in their efforts to shut the idea down. 

But Clarke and Diyoza didn’t move; Diyoza still watching Clarke, and Clarke looking down at Madi.

The room was a cacophony of raised voices and the squeaking of Murphy’s shoes as he moved about the room.

_“–you cannot be serious–”_

_“–are you trying to get her killed? What kind of–”_

_“–do you think we’re just going to let you put her in danger like this? We’re not. She’s not doing–”_

“I’ll do it,” Clarke said softly, and everything stuttered to a stop as all her friends turned to stare at her in shock. She flicked her gaze back up to Diyoza, “What do I have to do?”

Bellamy clenched his fists in front of him on the table and ducked his head like he was suddenly carrying the weight of the world, but it was Murphy who spoke. 

“Clarke, you can’t do this. You can’t put yourself through that again. Let one of us do it – _let me.”_

She shook her head, “Diyoza’s right, and she knows it has to be me. He doesn’t suspect me of anything, because he thinks I’ll do what I’m told ever since he threatened Bellamy, and he- he was right. But I can’t keep living in fear of his retaliation and if one of you tries, he’ll know something’s up. It has to be me.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“It does. It’s our best shot.”

“Then we need to get a better gun!” Murphy kicked a chair over, and the loud clatter it made as it fell was deafening in the stillness of the room.

“I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t _know that!_ Bellamy, talk some sense into her, please! She listens to you,” Murphy threw his hands up, but Bellamy was still sitting there, staring down at his hands. Murphy made a noise low in his throat, like a cornered predator; unused to being in that position and unsure what to do. He shook his head in incredulity, “I can’t believe you’re actually considering this.”

She stared him down, “Can’t you?” 

“Clarke,” it seemed to be Raven’s turn to plead with her, “c’mon. You can’t do this. It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s worth it. If Cage can never come after Madi, or me or the people I love again, it’s worth it.”

Using Madi’s name was a low move, but it was the right one, because all her friends fell into a begrudging silence. They couldn’t argue with that, not with the girl sitting right in front of them. 

“Can we have the room?” Bellamy’s voice was quiet, but the atmosphere was quieter, and without a word exchanged, everyone stood up and left the café immediately. Diyoza took Madi’s hand and they left first, the others falling into line behind her. The bell jingled as they did, and when the last of them had gone and the door was closed, Bellamy finally, finally looked at her. 

His eyes were full of sorrow and pain and she was sure that she was reflecting her own right back, because the corners of his eyes crinkled in that way they always did when he was worried about her.

He took a deep breath, “Clarke–”

“No.” She stood up, “you don’t get to talk.”

He closed his mouth obediently.

She stepped away from the table, giving herself some room to breathe, “you haven’t even spoken to me. I can understand pulling away if you don’t want to be around me anymore, or if all of this is too much for you, but you didn’t even tell me _why._ You just… left. You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do, when you haven’t even been here. You said _together,_ Bellamy, and then you _left.”_

He looked like he’d been slapped. 

“I’m sorry Clarke. I’m so, so sorry I made you feel that way, but that was never my intention–”

“Then what was your intention, Bellamy? To show me how much you care by refusing to even look at me? Great fucking job, thanks.”

He flinched, “Clarke, I promise, I just wanted to… That video was… god, Clarke, it was _awful._ All I see when I close my eyes is _you,_ over and over, and I just feel so powerless; I couldn’t help you then and I can’t help you now.”

“But you were!” Clarke threw up her hands in frustration, “you _were_ helping Bellamy; I was getting better! Until you decided to disappear from my life for no reason, and I was left alone to cope with seeing that video, with remembering exactly what it was like, with seeing it happen.”

“You weren’t alone, you had–”

“That is not the same thing and you know it. You’re my best friend Bellamy, _you’re_ the person I wanted around, _you’re_ the person I needed, and _you_ pulled away.”

Bellamy got to his feet and started pacing before he growled, “I couldn’t be here, Clarke. I just couldn’t. Being so close to you just made me so angry, because every time I look at you I see Cage’s hands on your throat and I want- I want to _kill him_ Clarke. I want him dead. I don’t care what happens to me, I- I pulled away because…”

 _Because you’re falling in love with me and you’re scared of me getting hurt again,_ Clarke wanted to scream, _just SAY IT! Bellamy, please just say the words…_

Instead, her ire jumped forward before she could stop it and she snapped, “because you’re a coward.”

The worst part was, he didn’t even argue. He just dropped his head again, looking more than ever like the world was pressing against his spine, and she hated that she wanted to comfort him. 

“Yeah, Clarke, because I’m a coward. Because I couldn’t keep my emotions in check and I didn’t want you to see me so angry. Because I’d rather you thought I didn’t want to see you than have you be scared of me.”

She shook her head, even as her heart cried out to him, “that’s not good enough Bellamy. I told you, you’re the only person who doesn’t scare me–”

“Exactly! What would have happened if you saw me on Wednesday night when I punched a hole in the wall?” He waved his bandaged hand in the air, answering the question she hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask yet. He scrubbed his other hand down his face, “what if you saw me like that and you got scared and I couldn’t fix it? You would have no-one to lean on- I mean, it was bad enough when you freaked out the other night and I felt like I was making everything worse.”

“I told you already, that had nothing to do with you–”

“I’m just trying to do the right thing, and I don’t know what that is anymore, but _I’m trying.”_ Bellamy pleaded. 

“Try harder.” Clarke said coldly. 

He gripped the back of one of the chairs with his left hand, as if trying to channel all his anger out of his body through his fingers, “Clarke, please don’t do this. Please don’t put yourself directly in Cage’s way. _Please,_ Clarke.”

“I’m doing it and there’s nothing you can say that can stop me,” she said, anger boiling her blood. 

“This is fucking stupid, Clarke, you’re gonna get yourself killed!”

“If it gets him put away, I don’t care.”

“You…?” His eyes widened and his jaw went slack, “You don’t care if you die? What that’s gonna do to the rest of us? We’ll be destroyed, Clarke – not just me, _all of us_ – and you don’t _care?”_

“No, I don’t!” Clarke yelled, and she wasn’t sure if she truly meant it, but she was angry and he was angry and they were throwing their fear at each other under the guise of rage and she couldn't stop pushing him away, “he hurts people, he hurt me, he hurt you; he deserves to be punished, and if this is how we do it, then I’m doing it. And you don’t get to tell me not to. Not when you abandoned me when I needed you.”

A tear slipped down his cheek, _“Clarke…”_

“I’m doing this, Bellamy. So get on board or get the hell out. You know where the door is.”

A charged, uncomfortable moment passed between them. Then, Bellamy turned on his heel and walked to the door, managing to say, “I hope you know what you’re doing,” over his shoulder as he yanked it open. He left, and the door swung shut with a cheery ring of the bell. 

Clarke’s heart had simultaneously stopped and sped up, and she wasn’t sure what to do. She wanted to run after him and beg him to come back, but more than that, she wanted him safe, she wanted Cage behind bars. 

One problem at a time.

* * *

* * *

Which was how, a week and a half later on a Wednesday night, she ended up asking Cage to pick her up from the office for her date, instead of meeting him out. 

When Bellamy walked out of the cafe, she wasn't sure if he spoke to them or not, but when they came back in, they were all subdued, and they had agreed to help Diyoza with the plan without any more fuss. Murphy still looked furious, but he channelled that fury into helping them, and into checking up on Clarke every day to try and talk her out of it. He failed, and she thought he probably knew he was going to, but he was there, and that was enough. Raven and Diyoza had spent the last week bugging her office; microphones behind staplers and attached to the light fixtures, and cameras in the bookshelf and above her desk and on every wall. They did a brilliant job of disguising them – Clarke had been using that office for nearly a year, and even she would have had trouble spotting them if she didn’t know they were there.

She knew that all her friends were listening in from their place on the roof, hearing her pacing in real-time, and that the second anything happened, they would be ready to make a move.

That didn’t stop her stomach from churning every time she heard a noise outside the door, or ran over what she was going to say. 

She was terrified. 

Then, like a lightning bolt from the blue, her phone pinged twice, and when she opened it, something cold washed over her, soothing the fire in her gut. 

**MURPHY 6:26pm:**  
_Bellamy’s on the roof._  
_He still hates this plan, but he’s not abandoning you._  
_For the record, he never was. He’s just a fucking ___  
_idiot, who doesn’t know how to deal with feelings._  
_Y’know, like someone else I know >:/ _

____**BELLAMY 6:27pm:**  
_I’m sorry, Princess._

__She stared down at her phone and took a deep breath. She could brave this either way, but with Bellamy there, she felt a sense of calm she hadn’t felt before; he was her best friend, her partner, and even though he hated that she was putting herself in danger, he wasn’t going to let her do it alone._ _

__Then there was a knock at the door and a familiar voice carried through the wood._ _

__“Ready to go?” He said, his voice sounding smug before she could even see his face._ _

___Yeah,_ she braced her hands against her desk and prepared herself for whatever was coming, _I’m ready.__ _

__“Come in.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whaddya think???
> 
> Angst?
> 
> Too much?
> 
> Not enough?
> 
> Don't worry, the next chapter gets REAL INTENSE, and I'm thinking I might add a couple more chapters because I feel there's a little more of this story (read: specifically Bellarke) to tell. What do you guys think?
> 
> Kudos are always appreciated and comments are my favourite thing, love you guys <3


	19. Hark How The Bells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke baits Cage and things get _heated and dangerous._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, so this one gets a little dark, you guys.
> 
>  **WARNING:** This is the darkest this fic will get, and I promise that after this the angst is a lot more lightweight, and there is a lot of fluff coming up, I SWEAR, to reward everyone for getting through the drama and pain in one piece. I appreciate you all so much.
> 
> I'm sorry in advance, but you can't say I didn't warn you!

The door handle turned, and in those few aching seconds before Cage entered, she felt her whole body tense up, and she tried to force herself to relax. 

Her friends were on the roof, _Bellamy_ was on the roof, and they were recording everything. Diyoza was in her ear, or at least, she was supposed to be; so far there was no proof that her friends could reach her, and it was only adding to her anxiety. Diyoza had made a point of saying she would stay off the channel until it was absolutely necessary, because they needed her to be as natural as possible, and they didn’t want Cage to think she was being fed lines. That’s what she kept telling herself as she pulled her hair over her ear, making sure the tiny device was obscured from view. Her chest felt tight and she felt warm, too warm. 

The silence was starting to get heavy, and there was a melody drifting around the back of her mind, one that made her heart sink and her fingers numb. She couldn’t place why it was upsetting her so much, but the tune was spinning around her head, making her dizzy. 

The door swung open and Cage strode in, an easy smile on his face, and her heart started pounding uncomfortably against her ribcage. 

_Two days,_ Diyoza had promised. 

Two days to get all the evidence collated and send it in to the police.

Two days to make it airtight.

She could deal with this panic for two more days.

“You don’t look ready to go out,” he said, framing it like a question as he closed the door behind him with a gentle click. 

She tried to subtly take a deep breath, but he caught her tense frame and the shaky inhale, and his eyebrows shot up. 

“You don’t look happy to see me,” he took a step forward, and she instinctively moved back, her legs hitting the edge of her desk. His face fell into a grin, “what’s wrong, Clarke?”

She gritted her teeth; it was now or never. 

“I need to talk to you.”

“I can see that. What’s got you so… _worked up,_ babe?” His slimy tone was back, and it took every ounce of strength in her body not to react. She could imagine Bellamy on the floor above her, trying to stay calm, and somehow it was enough for her to get her bearings again: the idea of her friends having to talk Bellamy down, and failing miserably. It would have made her smile if she wasn’t so unnerved by Cage’s eerie grin. 

She pressed a nail into the tip of her thumb, trying to focus. 

“I need you to explain this,” she said, thrusting a file at him. He stepped even closer to take it and she pushed her fingernail harder into her skin. That tune seemed to be getting louder but she still couldn’t place what it was. She rested her free hand on the desk behind her, propping herself up so that she wasn’t leaving it all up to her legs, which felt like they were minutes from failing completely. Her arm shook a little as she put some weight on it, and it didn’t escape his notice. 

He kept his eye on her for a moment longer before he let them slide down to the folder, flicking through the pages there. He shrugged and glanced up at her. 

“Looks like a car accident to me.”

She wanted to punch him, or kill him, or cry, or–

“Look again,” she said through her teeth, “because that looks like more than just a hit-and-run to me.”

Cage’s smile was genuinely frightening now, mostly due to the fact that he just hadn’t _stopped._

“What do you want from me, Clarke? I know you were there, I know you know what really happened. Are you trying to ask if I knew what was going to happen to Wells before it did?”

She folded her arms but she didn’t say anything, wasn’t sure if she could, and stared up at him defiantly. 

He dropped his gaze back to the file, “you really did your research, huh? Police reports, witness testimony, even found crime scene photos, I bet those were hard to look at.”

He was _taunting_ her. 

She swallowed. 

“Yeah,” her voice was barely a whisper, “but I needed to know. After it… happened… everyone made me feel like I was crazy. I knew it had been a coverup, I knew people were threatening us so we didn’t talk, but it’s been six years and all I have is the memory of seeing my friend shot in front of me, and a hundred witness statements saying there was no such shot. I just… I needed to know. For myself, I- I needed the closure.”

He frowned, the smile falling slightly but still resting between his cheeks, not quite gone. “So you thought you’d ask me?”

“I… yeah.”

He appraised her, something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, “what do you want me to say, Clarke? That my father ordered the hit? That he knew your friend was going to die before it happened?”

She couldn’t breathe, so she just nodded up at him, her nail now piercing the soft flesh of her thumb in her efforts to stay calm. 

“I can’t do that,” he said, with an air of finality, chucking the folder onto her desk. She almost slumped, defeated, but before she had a chance to really react, he was in her space, his face inches from hers as he pressed his body against her, that unsettling smile carving into his features. “I can’t do that, Clarke, because my father didn’t have any idea what was going to happen to Wells Jaha.”

Her brows furrowed.

His eyes flashed and he leaned even closer, lips almost brushing hers when he hissed, _“I_ ordered the hit. I took the shot _myself.”_

The universe slowed down and she felt everything hit her all at once. 

She was dimly aware of the fact that he’d stepped away from her slightly, that he was slowly moving around her office; if she wasn’t so completely and utterly destroyed she might have noticed that the way he moved was almost cat-like; a predator stalking its prey. The melody that had been circling her mind since he arrived suddenly felt like it was pressing against the back of her eyes, making them water. It started pounding in her ears to the frantic beat of her heart, driving up the heat in her veins.

_Hark how the bells,_  
_Sweet silver bells,_  
_All seem to say,_  
_Throw cares away…_  


She was simultaneously back there; watching Wells’ face slacken but not change as he died, hearing the noise of the car as it ran up on the curb, her screams falling on ears that had been paid not to hear her; and in that office, realising that the man who’d assaulted her was also responsible for the death of her best friend.

_Christmas is here,_  
_Bringing good cheer,_  
_To young and old,_  
_Meek and the bold..._  


Her world was crashing down around her, burning up under her skin and filling her lungs with smoke. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t move, she couldn’t see, she couldn’t think. Everything was too much and she couldn’t cope, she couldn’t do this, what the fuck was she supposed to do?

_Oh how they pound,_  
_Raising the sound,_  
_O'er hill and dale,_  
_Telling their tale..._  


She could still see it all so vividly; Wells laughing, his arm over her shoulder, singing loudly and off-key, just to annoy her, and her playful complaints as she looked up at him just in time to see something red on his forehead.

_Gaily they ring,_  
_While people sing,_  
_Songs of good cheer,_  
_Christmas is here…_  


The song twisted and looped, like a record being reset in her head, but it was warped now, discordant, and she couldn’t remember the rest of the words, just the first two lines, the ones that had been falling from Wells' lips when he faltered.

_Hark how the bells, sweet silver bells, hark how the bells, sweet silver bells, hark how the bells, sweet silver bells,_ over and **over** and _**OVER.**_

There was the sound of someone talking in her ear, but she couldn’t register it, all she could hear was tires screeching and the echo of the song Wells had been singing when he died.

_…hark how the bells, sweet silver bells…_

She could still see his lasting smile as he fell, could still feel his arm slipping from her shoulder as he tumbled to the sidewalk. She remembered how it felt as his weight lifted from her and a new weight took its place; the horrible, gut-wrenching realisation that her friend was dead before he even reached the ground.

_…hark how the bells, sweet silver bells…_

What had she said to him? What were her last words to him before he died? What had he died thinking? Had he died wondering if she loved him as much as he loved her? Had he died alone, thinking he was unwanted? Had he known he was going before he left her there on the tarmac, screaming into the dark?

__

_…hark how the bells, sweet silver bells, hark how the–_

**“CLARKE!”**

Bellamy’s voice cut through the song and she gasped for air, gripping at the edge of her desk to keep herself upright, her lungs burning at the lack of oxygen. For a moment she thought she’d truly snapped, that she was hearing things, until Bellamy spoke again, his voice tinny in the earpiece, “Clarke, can you hear me? Clarke, please, please, if you can hear me, I need you to breathe, okay? Don’t think about it, don’t think about that night; that’s what he wants, Clarke, he wants you afraid, he wants you running scared.”

He paused a moment, and she could hear his heavy breaths, some of them hitched and pained, like he was trying not to run down there himself. 

“C’mon, Princess, just breathe,” he murmured, “I know there’s nothing I can say to make this okay, I know, I know, I’m _so_ sorry, but you’ve got to do this. You’ve gotta do this, because you’ve _got to get out of there._ You’ve got to make it through this, because Cage is standing right there and he’s watching you.”

Her eyes flicked up, razorlike focus immediately directed on Wallace even as her chest heaved and her pulse jumped. He was still moving slowly in front of her, watching her reaction with a vested interest and an almost sick expression of amusement, waiting for her to break down, to crumble. It made her _furious._

Bellamy was right – she couldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“I’m so, so sorry, Princess,” Bellamy said, and she took a slow, deep breath. She straightened up a little, staring Cage down, her panic holding off for as long as she directed her white-hot rage at the man responsible for years of pain. “You can do this. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere. I _promise,_ Princess, I’m right here.”

She lifted her arms from the desk crossed them over her chest.

“You murdered Wells Jaha. He wasn't even a man yet, but he was already a _good_ one… Wells Jaha was a _good man_ and you killed him. And for what?! _Why?”_

Cage shrugged, “he was in my way.”

Clarke wanted to scream. She took another breath, this one shallower than the last. “How?! How could he _possibly_ have been in your way? He was nineteen! He couldn’t even drink yet!”

He tapped his own watch, looking pointedly at the one on her own wrist. She ran her thumb over the face of it, smearing red over the glass.

_…hark how the bells, sweet silver bells…_

“Thelonius,” she realised, shaking her head to clear it of Wells' voice. “He wasn’t disrupting Dante’s business at all, it was _yours._ We all thought it was retaliation for Jaha prosecuting one of his men, but that wasn’t it, was it? That man was a fall guy – whatever crime he committed – _you_ did it.”

“Clever girl,” Cage said, smugness oozing through his pores, “and he was getting close to me too. Closer than anyone else has ever gotten to uncovering the real empire I’ve been running beneath my father’s nose. Well… closest, _apart from you.”_

Bellamy was in her ear again but this time she wasn’t sure if it was real or if her brain was supplying it, because for a split second, it sounded like Wells, _“Clarke, get out of there, now!”_

He stepped closer and she darted to the side but he caught her wrist and yanked it. He swung her back against the wall and the force of it knocked a photo from the wall. It fell to the floor and smashed, and he shoved her again, her shoulder grazing the nail where the frame had been hanging only a second before. 

“Help!” She screamed out, and this time she knew there were people who could hear her, but she wasn’t sure they’d get there fast enough. 

His fingers curled around her throat, squeezing tighter and tighter, cutting off her circulation, and his other hand slid up her side, gripping a knife: the same knife she’d seen in that footage. He tapped it against her collarbone, and she tried not to flinch when the overly sharp edge nicked her skin. She strained to bring oxygen into her lungs, but his hand was pressing hard into her neck and she struggled feebly against him as the black tendrils of unconsciousness started clouding the edges of her vision.

“You know, don’t you Clarke, that I can’t let you live, after all this? Pity too; you had _so_ much potential. I know my father liked you.”

She was pointedly trying not to think about his use of past tense when there was a scream, and she realised quickly that it wasn’t from her own mouth. She looked past Wallace, over his shoulder, and saw Ontari standing in the doorway, no doubt planning on making Clarke’s life miserable until she saw the scene before her. 

She immediately turned and ran, calling out for security. 

Cage swore under his breath and released Clarke, but not before he swiped the knife across her shoulder. It didn’t cut deep, barely broke the skin, but the knife was sharp and the cut was long, running the across the line of her clavicle and it drew blood. She couldn’t help crying out, and he snarled maliciously, shoving closer to her again just to exacerbate the pain. When he did, the knife dislodged slightly in his grip, but he was so intent on cutting off her air that he barely noticed. 

She didn’t think about it, she just lifted her right arm and grabbed his wrist, holding it close. He was so surprised at her bizarre decision to keep him close instead of running away that he wasn’t expecting it when she bent his hand back towards himself, and her left hand came up and fisted in his shirt, yanking him forward. His knife plunged into his own shoulder, burying itself deep.

Cage roared in pain and stumbled back. 

She slid down the wall into a heap on the floor, and she heard his footsteps disappearing, and security running in. 

Her hair was in her face and there was blood on her hands. 

Not all of it was hers. 

There were two pairs of boots and a pair of heels that probably belong to Ontari in her periphery, and she knew she would have to get up soon, but she really just needed… she didn’t know what she needed. 

She lifted her head slightly to look up past the ankles of the people surrounding her.

“Miss Griffin? Miss Griffin, are you alright?” A nice guy she remembered seeing around on late night shifts was asking her, while another seemed to be reaching for her, but she just nodded and waved them away, pushing herself up onto her hands and knees. She would rather do it herself than have anyone touch her. She wasn't sure what she'd do if anyone touched her right now. 

“Get out of my way,” a familiar voice growled, and she glanced up to see Bellamy barging into the room, shoving the security men and Ontari aside. 

He dropped to his knees in front of her and she reached for his hand, but he was ghosting them both down her sides, checking her for injuries. She shook her head at him, “Bellamy, I’m okay.”

“Like _hell_ you are,” there was anguish on his face as his eyes darted over her, scouring for any sign that she might be mortally wounded. 

“Really, Bellamy, he just cut my shoulder, I’m not even sure it was deliberate, and I…” her voice was scratchy and it hurt to speak. She squeezed her eyes shut, “I managed to fight him off, it’s _okay,_ Bellamy, _I’m_ okay.”

Her friends ran in, she could tell by the army of footsteps, and Diyoza started talking to the guards and Ontari, ushering them out of the office. Someone threw something at the wall and it smashed, making her flinch. Emori and Raven knelt down on either side of her, Emori inspecting her wound and Raven just gripping her hand in both her own.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Bellamy said quietly, and when she opened her eyes, they met his brown ones - ocean and earth - and she knew he had never been so serious about anything in his life. 

She shook her head, “he’s going down, Bellamy. A couple of days, that’s all it’s gonna take, and he’ll be behind bars. Maybe less, if Diyoza is as good as she says she is.”

“He deserves to fucking _suffer,”_ Murphy snapped. 

“Yes, but that’s what we’re trying to _do,_ remember?” Clarke said patiently, wheezing a little.

“Clarke, look at you! Are you seriously telling me you don’t want him dead?” Murphy kicked the desk angrily. 

“Well he might be already, considering I just _stabbed him!”_ She yelled, somewhat hysterically, and the panic began to really set in. Her friends all stared at her, taken aback, and Murphy seemed to lose some of his fury, but Bellamy looked as determined as ever. She shook her head up at him, “Bellamy, don’t do this. If you go after him, you’re just putting yourself in the middle of it. What if you get arrested too?”

“I don’t care. I’m gonna _kill_ him.” He rose and stormed towards the door.

“Bellamy, _please,”_ she begged, and he froze, “please, _you promised.”_

His face crumpled and her heart broke in two at the sight of it, and then Bellamy was gone and Clarke was left hyperventilating on the floor while Murphy sprinted after him.

* * *

* * *

* * *

Five hours later, Clarke was sitting on the rooftop of her office building, her phone in her lap as she waited for the inevitable call that Bellamy had been arrested, or worse. 

Emori had driven her to the hospital; Raven had to stay with Diyoza so they could make sure they had all the evidence before the security guards bungled everything. They also gave a statement to said security guards, telling them to file a police report immediately, which they did without question. 

Raven texted her the whole time – apparently Ontari had been a blubbering mess – and Murphy had called her once the doctor finished up. 

She was right about it not being a bad injury, and the doctor said it probably wouldn’t even scar. The bruises on her throat were worse, and they weren’t even as painful as the bruises she’d received the first time he’d attempted to asphyxiate her, but that didn’t make the ache or the memory of Cage’s fingers on her neck any easier to deal with. 

The doctor gave her some painkillers and made sure she wasn’t going into shock or needed immediate psychiatric help before he cleared her. He told her she should probably take a day or two off work for the psychological toll of the ordeal, and she smiled tightly and resolved to ignore that advice. The whole process took three hours. 

Emori had tried to drive her back to her apartment, but she had refused, begging her not to take her there, and instead back to work. She wanted to put her office back into a recognisable state that night, so that when she went into work the next day, it didn’t frighten her so much. She just wanted normalcy.

Murphy told her that he was pretty sure he’d convinced Bellamy to at least wait for her word before he did anything, but when she tried to call him, he didn’t pick up. 

Her friends had helped her clean her office, and Diyoza had pulled her aside to apologise profusely and promise that this would be enough to at the very least get Cage life in prison. 

She’d tried calling Bellamy again, to no avail. 

When she’d refused to go home, or back to one of theirs, opting instead to stay at work, her friends exchanged looks, but they didn’t argue. Instead, Murphy settled onto her couch and told her that she could try and kick him out, but it wouldn’t stick. 

So she’d let him stay while she sat down with her palms face down on her desk and breathed deeply in through her nose and out through her mouth.

She was okay, everything was okay. 

But Bellamy was still missing.

After another hour and a half, she’d been unable to take the smallness of her room, feeling claustrophobic, and she told Murphy she was going to the roof. 

He followed her up there, but he kept a respectable distance, sitting against the stairwell at the entrance while she walked through the garden at the other end, giving her space.

Eventually, she picked a bench in the centre of the garden and sat down, and that was where she had stayed. 

It was past midnight.

She’d been sitting alone for forty minutes. 

Her phone rang. 

When she saw the caller ID, her heart sank and her throat constricted, but she answered anyway. 

“Mr Wallace?”

Dante sounded tired, “Miss Griffin.”

“What can I do for you?” Her voice sounded hoarse. 

“I have just received a rather distressing phone call from my son, who claims to have been stabbed and viciously beaten, to within an inch of his life. He wants to press charges.”

“Has he been to the police?” Clarke asked, knowing full well that he hadn’t. Cage _couldn’t_ go to the police yet, not until he had a cover story and a few men in his pocket. Her heart almost stopped at the mention of him being beaten though - that wasn't her, which meant it might have been... _no, she couldn't think about that, not yet._ If she thought about that now, she would have to admit that Cage being alive meant that _he_ might not be, and she just couldn't entertain that possibilty. Bellamy had to be okay. He _had_ to. 

“No, but he plans to. He’s at our physician now, getting his injuries taken care of,” Dante said. “What are my legal options? Actually- perhaps… perhaps you were not the best person to call.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you think you can look at this incident objectively, Miss Griffin?” Dante asked.

“What do you mean?” Clarke asked, anxious that he might already know the true circumstances of Cage Wallace’s stab wound.

“You’re my lawyer, but you’re also his girlfriend, and I want to know if there’s a conflict of interest,” Dante said, and she felt sick. 

“I, uh… why, sir?”

He hesitated for longer than was strictly necessary for such an ostensibly easy question, before saying carefully, “because, Miss Griffin, my son doesn’t always treat his girlfriends with the level of respect they might feel they deserve.”

She was going to throw up, she knew it. 

“Mr Wallace, can you hold for a moment, my assistant has just sent me something urgent, I’ll only be a moment,” she didn’t wait to hear his reply, she just muted her phone and dropped it on the bench falling to her knees on the cement. She grabbed at the little wall surrounding one of the plant beds, trying to calm herself down, but it didn’t stop her from vomiting. She heaved, her weight pressed uncomfortably against the sharp edges, but all she could think was, _he’s done this before, he’s done this to other women, he’s done this before._

When she finished throwing up and managed to claw back her bearings, she fumbled for her phone and unmuted it, waving away a concerned Murphy, who quickly retreated back to his place by the stairwell door.

“Sorry about that Mr Wallace, it was to do with a case – not one of yours, don’t worry – and it seemed important. Of course I can represent Cage,” she needed to keep her cover, just for 43 hours. She could manage 43 hours. Right? “Do you know who the attacker was?"

“My son tells me it was a man called Bellamy Blake–”

Clarke rammed her fingernails into her skin to stop herself making a noise to give her panic away. 

“–swore up and down it was him. Although…”

She took a quiet breath. “Although?”

“Look, Miss Griffin, I’m not proud of this, but my son has done many bad things in his life, and there are many people out there who might want to hurt him, on top of the people who want to hurt him to get to me.”

“And?”

“And I think that any one of those people could have assaulted my son, but because he has a particular dislike for Mr Blake, he’s trying to throw the blame on him. He knows I will strike at anyone who harms him, however… there were no witness, no cameras, no proof… just Cage.”

“And you think he’s trying to pin it–”

“On your friend, yes,” Dante said, and she was relieved that Bellamy wasn't in Dante's crosshairs, but that didn't stop her other fears from seeping through. She pressed her cheek against the cool wall in an attempt to calm down, but her blood had reached boiling point, she was sure of it. 

She tried to keep her voice level, but barely managed a shaky; “What?”

“You think that I don’t know about your friendship with Mr Blake? I’m not a fool, Miss Griffin; I keep tabs on everyone. Unlike my son, however, I do not believe Mr Blake to be a violent man, nor to I think he would try and steal you from Cage by taking him out in some foolish blind attack. I believe Cage is simply jealous.”

 _Breathe, Clarke,_ she scolded herself, _everything’s okay, Bellamy’s fine, breathe._ Her voice was steadier this time, “you know your son well.”

She could hear what almost sounded like guilt in his voice when he replied. “Sometimes you overlook the shortcomings of your children, because if you don’t, you might not recognise them anymore.”

She wasn’t sure what to say to that, but luckily, he spoke again before she had to. 

“I’ll find another lawyer to represent my son I think, Miss Griffin. You have enough work on your plate with all the other cases you’re already working for us.” He paused. “And I won’t file charges against your friend.” 

He hung up, and she was left sitting there, propped up against cement flowerbeds with her phone in her hand and a fire under her skin. She slowly got to her feet and moved over to the edge of the roof, peering over the edge down to the city below. 

_Where the hell are you Bellamy?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry
> 
> I SWEAR IT GETS LESS ANGSTY NOW. The next chapter is only half angst, and then there's *possibly* some fluff, and then a teeny tiny bit more angst, and then the rest of the fic after that is just fluff and maybe a tiny bit of smut. I PROMISE.
> 
> I really hope you enjoyed it, despite the pain I'm apparently insistent on delivering you. 
> 
> Thank you so so so so so much for reading! I appreciate your kudos and I read and reply to every comment, you're all so incredibly lovely and supportive, and I'm so thankful to all of you. <3


	20. I Can't Lose You Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy and Clarke reunite and there are lots of words exchanged.......... most of them angry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I'm SORRY for so much angst in the last chapter, so as a reward, I'm putting this chapter up EXTRA early, so I hope you like it!!!

For five hours, she had managed to convince herself that Bellamy might have exercised self-restraint and not gone after Cage; for five whole hours she felt nothing but a detached sense of calm, a blind hope that they would be fine. One call from Dante had shattered that illusion, shards of it cutting through her until she felt nothing but panic for Bellamy’s safety.

She stood on the roof, looking out over the city, trying to remember how to breathe. 

_He’ll be fine, he’ll be fine, he’ll be fine._

Murphy came up beside her, keeping a careful distance, and pointed out that it was past 1am, and she should probably get some rest. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t disagree. She just let him lead her down to the lobby, past the desk where the nice security guard from earlier stared at her concernedly, and into the carpark. Murphy offered to drive her home, but she couldn’t fathom being back there, so she asked him to take her to Bellamy’s. 

When they arrived, she let herself in and curled up on the couch, sinking down into the cushions and letting the feel and the smell and the familiarity of the apartment wash over her. She’d missed it; it felt like he did, cool and comforting and an eclectic mismatch of interests and values. She loved it, and she loved him, and all she wanted was to see him again. 

“You want to take the bed?” Murphy asked as he trailed behind her into the living room.

She tucked a cushion under her chin and burrowed into it, “no, I’m good here.”

He sat down in the armchair and turned so that his legs were dangling over the arm and he could watch the door. 

“You don’t have to do that,” she tried, but he shot her a look that told her not to bother and she decided to just close her eyes and try to get some rest. Even when she couldn’t see him, she knew he was a few feet away, and she actually felt better with him there, although she’d never tell him as much. 

Eventually, sleep took her, but it wasn’t a pleasant experience. She kept feeling Cage’s fingers still gripping her throat, and his knife against her chest, and she woke up multiple times during the night gasping for air. Every time she did, she looked over at Murphy, expecting him to be asleep, only to find him still staring at the door, occasionally sparing her a glance to make sure she was okay. 

She was glad he was the person who’d taken her home. She loved Emori and Raven, but she knew they would have hovered over her and worried. Murphy was worrying plenty, but he knew her well enough to know when she just needed space, and he was giving it to her. She resolved that the second she stopped feeling like the walls were closing in every time someone got near her, she would hug him and never let go.

* * *

* * *

Clarke woke up sore and still tired, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d drifted off, only that it was sometime in the early hours of the morning. She sat up slowly and stretched, which was hard to do with an ache in her neck and a sharp stinging across her shoulder. 

She checked her phone.

**BELLAMY 3:47am:**  
_I’m sorry, I really was just going to leave it alone._  
_I know it might screw things up for you, and I’m_  
_sorry. I’m staying away until I’m sure Cage isn’t_  
_sending someone after me._  
  
  
**BELLAMY 3:51am:**  
_I’m okay Princess, don’t worry about me too much._

She tried calling him, but it went straight to voicemail, and her heart clenched. He was alive at four in the morning, but that didn’t mean he was okay now. If he didn’t die by Cage’s hand, she was definitely going to kill him. 

Murphy put some coffee down in front of her, “I know Bellamy usually makes you hot chocolate, but you look like you could use the caffeine.”

She thanked him with a silent nod and downed it, probably too fast, but she couldn’t find in within herself to care. 

“So,” he asked cautiously, “what do you want to do today?”

She glared at him. 

He slumped, “work it is. I’ll make some breakfast – go take a shower, you look like you need ten minutes under some hot water, and maybe five days in a spa.”

“I’m not hungry,” she managed to croak. 

He harrumphed noisily, “don’t care, Princess, take a goddamn shower.”

She watched him move into the kitchen and start rummaging through Bellamy’s cupboards, and she wanted to call out that the frying pans weren’t where he was looking for them, but she was tired and she just headed for the bathroom instead. 

He was right; the shower helped. She turned the taps until the water was almost scalding, so that her outside felt like it matched her insides, burning up as waves of steam rolled off her like panic. She thought of it like leaning into a fever, seeing if she could burn out the bad feelings, but when she finally turned the shower off and left the bathroom, the original heat still remained, bubbling under her skin. 

She tried calling Bellamy again – nothing. 

“Bellamy… look, I… I just need to know if... I need to hear from you, or see you, or… please, Bellamy, please be okay,” she sniffled down the line, “I’m not sure if I can do this without you.” 

_I’m not sure if I can survive losing another man I love,_ her brain whispered the words she refused to say out loud, _Dad, Wells, now Bellamy; if he dies…_

She shook her head, trying to push the thoughts away, and hung up, shoving her phone in her pocket. Murphy placed a paper bag in her hands and held the door open for her, and she made a face at him in surprise. 

He grumbled, “I can be nice,” and he was in the car before she had a chance to retort. 

She followed, and once she was safely buckled into the passenger seat, Murphy pulled away towards the uptown suburbs. She opened the bag to find a croissant laden with butter and honey. Her eyes were wide as she looked down at it, and he sighed loudly through his nose. 

“Bellamy keeps croissants in his freezer, I know you like honey; it wasn’t some big _thing,_ Clarke, it’s not a big deal.”

“You’re being too nice to me,” she said, and her voice sounded a little better, loosened from the steam of the shower. 

He turned left, honking at someone in front of them and throwing a middle finger up ostentatiously out the window before he asked, “You don’t want me to be nice to you?” She thought he might be surprised, but he sounded more like he was testing the waters. 

“No, Murphy,” she took a bite of the croissant and mumbled happily to herself, before attempting to talk around her mouthful, “You’re a sarcastic asshole; it’s one of your best qualities. I just want everything to go back to normal.”

His lips twitched, “well, you’re talking with your mouth full, so I’d say that’s one step closer.”

“Fuck off,” she said, almost incomprehensible due to the amount of pastry she’d attempted to shove in her mouth while he was talking. 

He snorted loudly, and the rest of the drive was spent arguing over which radio station to play, until Clarke cheated and hooked up her phone with an aux chord. 

“I hate you,” he groaned, as she blasted Kelly Clarkson’s _Miss Independent_ from the speakers at a frankly _obscene_ volume. 

“You love this song,” she pointed out, even while he shook his head vehemently. She grinned, “and you love me.”

When the song hit the chorus Murphy couldn’t pretend to hate it anymore and he started smacking the steering wheel enthusiastically, drawing laughter from her lips with ease as she watched him belt out the lyrics. 

“Fine, Griffin, maybe I love this song,” he conceded as they pulled up to _Kingsley-Griffin-Jaha_ and slid into a parking space, “but I still hate you.”

She reached across the center console and held his hand, just for a moment, “thanks, Murphy.”

He squeezed her fingers gently, and she opened her door to leave.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” He asked.

She shrugged, “I think I can manage. Emori’s coming by in the afternoon, and Raven has insisted on buying me dinner tonight, so it might be nice to just be alone for a while.”

“Okay. But if you get overwhelmed–”

“–I’ll call you, now go to work. Those underground cage matches won’t fight themselves,” she teased, waving as she entered the lobby of the glass skyscraper. 

She rode the elevator up to her floor and walked purposefully towards her office. She could do this. She could sit in her office and do her job and pretend that Cage Wallace hadn’t assaulted her just a few hours previously. She could lie to her co-workers and her boss and herself. She could cope with this. 

When she got to her door, there was a man sitting outside it in a chair, glaring around at everyone. He stood as she approached. 

“Ma’am.”

She squinted at him, sizing him up. “Who are you?”

“I’ve been hired to stand guard at your door, Ma’am, Diyoza sent me.”

Clarke threw her eyes to the heavens. “Of course she did.”

“I won’t get in your way, Ma’am.”

She smiled politely and walked past him into the office, surveying it. It looked normal, except for the picture missing from the wall she’d been slammed against, and she was glad they’d managed to tidy it the night before. She was right about reinstating normalcy. 

She had barely crossed the room, however, before there was a sharp rap on the door.

“Yeah?” She called out. 

“There’s a woman who wants to see you.”

She sighed and opened it to find Ontari hovering awkwardly in the hallway, avoiding eye contact. To the guard she said, “Please don’t make people wait out here, just show them in,” and to Ontari she just jerked her head at the elevator. The other woman nodded, and she followed her down the hallway. 

They stood in silence as she pressed the button and they moved up to the floor above, where Nia was almost certainly waiting with a lot of questions. 

The doors bounced open but before she could step out, Ontari grabbed her elbow. Clarke took a deep breath, trying not to freak out, and inclined her head in her direction.

“I’m sorry he did that to you,” Ontari said quietly. 

“So am I,” she said, levelling a glare at the woman, “now let go of me.”

Ontari released her and she hurried away. Just because Ontari seemed upset didn’t suddenly make her less horrible; she was a bad person who did things for bad reasons with no justification and she couldn’t suddenly claim otherwise because she saw Clarke get assaulted.

Clarke tried to brush off her misgiving and approached Nia’s desk. 

The woman barely glanced up from the papers she was signing, “Clarke, care to explain what happened in my building last night?”

Clarke wanted to point out that Nia didn’t own the building, but she had a feeling that might make things worse. “Cage Wallace assaulted me.”

“Mmhmm, and how did that happen?”

“Do you need me to explain the concept of _‘assault’_ to you?” Clarke sniped, and Nia stilled and put her pen down. 

“Excuse me?” She asked, sitting back and staring down her nose at her.

Clarke stood her ground, “I’m not sure how you expect me to explain how Cage Wallace attacked me. It’s in the police report, which if I’m not very much mistaken, is sitting right beside you on the desk. If you want to order me not to spread it around, don't worry, I don't plan on it. My name would end up smeared and he would get off scot-free. I've been a lawyer, and a _woman_ long enough to know that. Is there a reason you called me up here?”

Nia hesitated.

“No, you can go.”

She spun on her heel and stormed from the room, almost running directly into someone’s chest as she did. 

“Sorry,” she said reflexively. He opened his mouth to say something, but she realised who it was and said quickly and quietly so that Nia didn’t hear, “hey, does that offer to help me still stand?”

Roan crossed his arms and quirked his lips up. “Of course. What do you need?”

* * *

* * *

She and Roan had lunch in the garden on the roof, going through files and making sure they had all their facts straight. Once they had checked everything, she signed the form he handed her. 

“You sure about this, Clarke?”

“Definitely. She may be my boss, but I’m a fucking Griffin,” she said, determined. He grinned at her as he left, lazily saluting in that way that only he could. 

She stayed on the roof for a while after he left, watching the city and wondering how long it would take for her to feel fine again. How long Cage would have to be behind bars for, for her life to go back to normal. Maybe she couldn’t – maybe she would have to create a new normal. 

She would, if she had to. 

Her mind turned to Bellamy again, and her heart sped up as she scoured the streets below, as if she would be able to see him from up there. She was so terrified that something had happened to him, and her breathing started getting heavier. 

Someone cleared their throat behind her and she turned to find Octavia standing at the door with her arms crossed, “My brother’s in your office.”

Clarke swore under her breath as she practically sprinted past Octavia and down the stairs, feeling worried and helpless and _angry._

She barely spared a glance for the man still standing dutifully outside her office, despite him offering her a polite smile, and she yanked the door open with probably more force than was necessary, making the poor man jump.

She barged into her own office to find Bellamy leaning on the front of her desk, bloodied knuckles resting on the dark wood, nursing a sheepish expression that told her he knew he had done something bad. Still, he looked far too relaxed considering the danger he had just put himself in.

 _“What the hell did you do?”_ She asked, closing the door behind her with a quiet ‘click’. 

“I–”

“No, save it, I know _exactly_ what you did, because I got a call from Dante Wallace asking for legal advice for his son getting beaten to within an inch of his life. I know what you did because I’ve spent every waking hour since you left running over scenarios in my head and only some of them ended with you still alive. I thought I told you I had it handled,” her voice was low, dangerous, and the sheepish look became more pronounced; turned guilty. 

“I know, and I really was going to let you handle it, but…” Bellamy trailed off, and there was fury in his eyes. 

“What the _hell_ were you thinking?!” She hissed. 

“I was thinking that I want to murder Cage Wallace,” he said steadily, and she could see that he meant it, in the way his shoulders straightened slightly, and his hands gripped the desk a little tighter. 

“Two days. You couldn’t wait _two days_ to let your macho bravado bullshit take over? You couldn’t just leave well enough alone?!”

“No, I couldn’t!” He snapped back, eyes on her neck, “He _hurt_ you, Clarke. Again! I told you, I’m not letting him touch you, and I meant it.”

“Right, so instead of letting me handle it, you thought you’d go and get yourself killed?! What would happen to me if he retaliated, Bellamy? You think my life would just go on as normal if you died? I’ve already lost my father and my best friend to the Wallaces and _I can’t lose you too!”_

The retort he’d had ready never left his lips and he stared at her, stricken. 

“You are the most important person in my life, Bellamy. You’re my best friend, and despite the fact that you can barely _look_ at me, let alone touch me anymore, you’re still the person I trust the most. So what happens to me if you die? I would be _devastated,_ Bellamy, I would _break._ And to top it all off, with you out of the picture, Cage would have even easier access to me. So what on Earth would possess you to go out and beat him within an inch of his life when you know he has an entire crime family to call on?”

“You didn’t hear what he said,” he muttered.

_“Nothing is worth your life, Bellamy, **nothing.”**_

“What about Cage gloating about assaulting you, and threatening to do it again?” Bellamy’s eyes flashed with defensive frustration and a part of her couldn’t blame him. He had tried to sit down and be quiet, but in the end the rubber band can only stretch so far before it snaps, and Cage had been pulling on the elastic for a long time. 

He growled, deep and low in his throat, and started pacing up and down, and she waited for him to continue. “He was at your _apartment,_ Clarke.”

“What?” Clarke’s eyes widened.

“I promised you I wouldn’t go after him and I was keeping that promise, _I was_ … I went to your place because I was going to make dinner. I was gonna invite Murphy, Emori and Raven, because you needed us last night, more than ever. You’re right, I’ve been avoiding you, but I didn’t want to do that anymore. So I got to your building, and he was standing at the door to your apartment with a key in his hand.”

Clarke felt sick again. “I never made him a key.”

“I know. I told him to back off, and he didn’t, so I threatened to hurt him. Then he…” Bellamy stopped dead in his tracks, hands balling into fists at his sides. “He said that I couldn’t protect you forever, and that I obviously wasn’t doing a good job of it, if he managed to… he told me that he was disappointed he didn’t get more time with you in your office, and that he wanted to finish what he started. And I just… I just snapped.”

At this point, she should have taken a step back and calmed down, but she was just so _worried._ Just like he had so many weeks earlier in this very same office, she channelled it into her anger and stalked forward, jabbing her finger into his chest. 

“If Cage tries to bait you, if Cage is in my _apartment,_ then you _tell me;_ don’t just decide to take matters into your own hands! God, why would you do something so stupid and reckless–”

 _“Because I’m in love with you!”_

He interrupted, but she just continued as if she hadn’t heard him, as if her heart wasn’t thumping rhythmically against her ribs, trying to burst through her ribcage to get to him. He’d finally said the words. She knew really, she’d known for a while, but hearing him say it out loud was a different thing entirely.

“–I’m going to have to put you in witness protection, because otherwise Cage will have you murdered. How’s it going to feel being in love with me _then,_ when you can never see or hear from me ever again?”

He glowered petulantly at her, “You’d be safe. I wouldn’t care.”

“Dammit Bellamy, enough with the self-sacrificial bullshit. You make it so hard sometimes, and I want…” she tried to swallow around the lump that had formed in her throat, “You’re such a fucking idiot… You can’t do shit like that, you can’t- What did you _do?”_

The panic was back in her throat and she tried to force it back down, but all she kept saying was, _“What did you do, what did you do, what did you do?”_

She was swaying on her feet and her breath was coming out in gasps and her whole world was on fire: burning up before her eyes. 

The defiance fell from his figure and he stepped forward, hands out on either side of her to catch her if she fell, but not actually touching her. For some reason, that was enough to snap her out of her anxiety attack, because now she was right back to being furious.

“I am not made of glass, Bellamy Blake,” she snapped, and straightened, glaring up at him. 

“I know that,” he said softly. 

“Then why won’t you _touch_ me? Because you haven’t, not since you saw the footage, and I… do you not want to anymore? Because… because I’m damaged goods?” She didn’t really think he did, not _really._ Not rationally. But it had been a stray thought flitting around her head, tormenting her, for days. 

He shook his head before she even finished, moving a step closer, his hands still outstretched but not nearly close enough. “No, no, absolutely not, I just… every time I thought about it, I thought about his hands on you, and it made me feel awful because I never want to hurt you, and I didn’t want to bring any of that to the surface. That video was bad enough, but… You were _white_ after he attacked you again, Clarke. You were so shaken, I honestly thought you were going into shock. You just shut down, and I couldn’t do that to you, I couldn’t live with myself if I triggered that again.”

She stared at him for a long time, until he started to fidget under her gaze, and she finally just breathed the words she’d been wanting to for days, “Bellamy. You can touch me.” 

His jaw went a little slack, but he didn’t move. 

“I _want_ you to.” She pleaded.

His eyes were searching hers, like he was expecting her to retract it. 

“Bellamy, _please,”_ she murmured, “please _touch me?”_

Something behind his eyes shifted.

One minute he was frozen to the spot and the next his hands were on her waist and he was kissing her like he never wanted to do anything else, lips moving slowly over hers. He didn't kiss her like Cage, possessive and insistent; Bellamy kissed her like they had all the time in the world and he wanted to spend every second of it making her feel comfortable and desired. He was holding her carefully, taking his time to make sure she was okay, but she was more than okay, she was _impatient._ She slid her hands up his chest and over his shoulders, burying her fingers in his hair, and he made a quiet noise in the back of his throat. 

She hadn’t realised just how much she’d _missed him_ until she felt the heat draining from her body, replaced with that intoxicating sense of serenity, cooling down her aching lungs, soothing her nerves, calming her heart. She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life, and she was done waiting.

She kissed him back even harder, as if she could convey her want with only that, and he seemed to get the message; spinning her round to lift her onto the front of her desk without breaking contact for even a second. She was closer to his height now, and his hands were cupping her cheeks and she never wanted this moment to end. Her ankles hooked around his legs, stopping him from stepping away, although it really didn’t seem like that was in the cards, not with the way his lips moved desperately against hers and his fingers twisted into her shirt.

“This wasn’t how I saw this conversation going,” she murmured against his lips, and he chuckled and slowed down, resting his forehead on hers. 

“Really? How _did_ you see it going?” He sounded out of breath, and she knew he was as distracted by her chest heaving against his as she was by the pressure of him against her thighs. 

“I imagined a lot more arguing,” she teased, trying to regain her composure a little.

“If it helps, I can complain about your wealth some more?” He kissed her cheek, and she felt the curve of his smile before he leaned back and gestured at their surroundings in mock outrage, “because this office is ridiculous. Honestly, that paperweight probably cost as much as my apartment. I’m not even gonna ask about the photo frames, because I presume they’re made of 24 carat gold. And this desk is made of mahogany! It’s not just painted, it’s not dark wood, it’s _actual_ mahogany! I mean for god’s sake, what a waste of–”

She cut him off by grabbing his shirt and yanking him back to her, slanting her lips across his. 

Suddenly, he broke the kiss and frowned, all seriousness.

 _“Mahogany,_ Clarke–”

And when she silenced him again, the kiss was messier, because they were both smiling. 

His hands had trailed back down to her hips and she reached down and grabbed one, dragging it underneath her shirt to her waist and sighing into his mouth when she finally felt his palm on her skin. He skirted his thumb across her ribs and she unconsciously pressed her heels in, pushing him until their bodies were flush against each other. He moaned, nibbling at her bottom lip and moved his other hand up and into her hair, as if he could pull her even closer. Just when she thought the sensory overload was going to make her explode, he ducked his head to her neck and started pressing gentle kisses all the way down it, taking care not to injure her, and now she was _definitely_ going to combust. 

It didn’t help that he murmured, _“God, I love you,”_ into her skin, sealing it there like a promise. 

She wanted to say it back. She wanted it desperately, for him to hear her say the words, because it was true, because she _meant it._ And she knew he didn’t expect it back. He didn’t ever expect anything of her, and he absolutely didn’t expect her to say it. Not _those_ words. 

They were building in her throat, pressing against her tongue as she dropped her head back to give him better access to her neck. They were on her lips, begging to be released. 

“Bellamy, I–”

“I fucking knew it,” a familiar voice sliced through the air like a knife and Bellamy stilled, his head slumping into the crook of her neck in defeat. He didn’t let go of her though. If anything, his grip on her waist tightened protectively. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he growled. 

Clarke looked over his shoulder, one hand still in his hair, the other propping her up on the desk, and saw Octavia standing in the doorway, burning with rage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof.
> 
> I know.
> 
> I'm an asshole.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! Thank you so much for reading it, and for your kudos, and tbh your comments are my will to live at this point, so double thanks for those. ;)
> 
> I love you all! You're all lovelies!!! <3 (except you What)


	21. Come On, Princess, Let's Go Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Bellamy get interrupted by Octavia, and decide that they finally need to explain the whole situation to the rest of their friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this isn't really relevant to this chapter, but I've retroactively made Madi nine, because the sequel I'm writing (BECAUSE I HAVE NO SELF CONTROL) takes place a few years in the future, and I want her to be more canon age around then, about thirteen. It's not going to change the rest of this story too much, but it is something you should probably know for posterity. 
> 
> Anyway, ON WITH THE FLUFF AND ANGST!

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Octavia yelled, and Clarke thought she might stomp away in a huff, but instead she stalked forward angrily, “Sneaking around behind my back and _lying to my face about it,_ and then I have to actually walk in on you and my brother about to have sex. Do you have any fucking idea how disgusting that is? I cannot believe you would do something so despicable.”

“That’s not what’s going on, O,” Clarke tried, and Bellamy extricated himself from her arms and stood beside her, ever so slightly between her and Octavia. He left his hand resting on Clarke’s knee though; like if he released her for even a second she might disappear. 

Octavia was still fuming, almost frothing at the mouth, “Oh yeah? Then what is going on? Because it looks to me like you were about to fuck my brother in your office, exactly like you were telling me you _haven’t been._ You’ve been messing him around for weeks, putting him in harm’s way, screwing up his life, I mean, fuck, Clarke! You’re such a _fucking–”_

“Stop it,” Bellamy said quietly, stepping fully in front of Clarke, her knees brushing against his back and his hand sliding around to her thigh. His arm was bent back at an odd angle, but he refused to remove it from her leg, “don’t even think about finishing that sentence.”

Octavia gaped at him, “You’re choosing her, over me? Your own sister? Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”

“Not when you’re being unreasonable, I’m not. You’re my sister but you’re also supposed to be Clarke’s friend, not that I’ve seen you around much lately,” he scolded. “Do you have any idea what Clarke has been through the last two months?”

Clarke slid off her desk and his hand moved with her, sliding up to her waist, keeping her firmly behind him. She appreciated the effort to protect her from Octavia’s wrath, but she didn’t want him to do something he’d regret, so she reached for him, tugging on his elbow, “Bellamy, don’t.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, “Clarke…”

“It’s okay, Bellamy, I’m okay,” she said reassuringly, but his mouth set in a hard line and he was flexing the hand at his side in an effort not to make it into a fist. 

“it’s not okay, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” his gaze flicked back to Octavia, “I thought I raised you better than that.”

“She’s a whore putting out for a rich asshole, and you’re angry with _me?”_

“Don’t you dare call her that!” Bellamy barked. 

“Why? It’s what she is.”

“You better back up, O, because if you keep saying shit like that–”

“Bellamy, it’s fine,” Clarke tried again, and this time when he met her eyes he looked incredulous.

“No, it isn’t,” he said insistently.

“It’s okay, she’s allowed to hate me,” Clarke murmured, feeling the statement gnawing away at her insides even as she tried to convince herself she was fine with it. “Beating up Cage is one thing, I draw the line at cutting off your sister. I won’t let you sacrifice that for me, Bellamy, I won’t.”

“Beating up Cage?” Octavia asked. 

“Yeah,” Bellamy said darkly. 

Her hands balled into fists at her sides, “You fucking idiot. You messed with a crime family just so that you can sleep with Clarke whenever she wants?”

“Back the hell up, O,” he crossed his arms and took a menacing step forward and Clarke gripped at the back of Bellamy’s shirt, fisting it between her fingers until he looked at her.

“Hey, hey, stop,” she tugged him back towards her and pulled him into a hug from behind. She wrapped her arms around his waist and he covered them with his own, relaxing just a tiny bit when she pressed her forehead between his shoulder blades. “She doesn’t know, Bellamy.”

He sagged against her and she couldn’t see his face, but she knew he was still glaring at his sister. She pressed a kiss to his shirt before she extricated herself from his grip and moved to his side. When she risked a glance at him, he looked less like he was about to tell Octavia he never wanted to see her again and more like he was holding himself accountable for everything that had taken place. 

“Don’t,” Clarke snapped, and he flicked his gaze to her, “it is not your fault, Bellamy, don’t you dare blame yourself.”

“What’s going on?” Octavia asked, but there was no fire in her voice this time, no unbridled temper to check, just a suspicious tone.

Clarke was struck with an idea. Bellamy gave her a questioning look and she nodded. He wrapped his arm around her waist brought her close to his side. They faced his sister together, staring her down. 

“Tell you what,” Clarke said calmly, “if you come to my apartment tonight after work, say around six? I’ll tell you everything you want to know. You can ask me anything and I’ll answer. In fact, I’m inviting everyone. It’s time we cleared the air.”

Bellamy’s fingers tapped out a nervous rhythm on her hip. “Are you sure about this, Princess?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. It’ll all come out soon anyway, whether we tell them or not,” she pointed out. 

“I’m sorry, you want to host a dinner party to announce that you’ve been fucking my brother?”

Bellamy stiffened. “Get the hell out.”

Octavia glared at him, “I work here, Bellamy, unlike you.”

“Michael!” Bellamy called out, and the office door opened. The security guy poked his head through.

“Something wrong, Mr Blake?”

“Yeah, could you remove my sister from Clarke’s office, please,” he asked, his eyes never leaving Octavia.

“Of course,” the man stepped half into the room, catching Octavia by the elbow and pulling her backwards towards the corridor. 

She looked murderous, “is this really what you want to do, Big Brother? You’re really picking her over me?”

Bellamy just dropped his head to stare at the floor, “it doesn’t have to be like that, O.” 

And then they were gone and the door closed behind them. He immediately turned to Clarke, his other hand coming up to her cheek and his eyes poring over her face. “I’m so sorry, Clarke, she’s–”

“–your sister, and you love her,” she finished for him, her small fingers curling around his large ones on her cheek. Her eyes fluttered closed and she breathed him in for a moment, just enjoying the feeling of his palm on her jaw and his fingers against her spine. 

“You okay?” He murmured, and there was an edge to his voice that was different to his frustration with his sister. 

She nodded, reached up to tug on his curls until his forehead was pressed against hers, and sighed, already feeling better. He brushed his thumb along her cheekbone soothingly, and they just stood there, tangled up in each other, for god knows how long, until Clarke’s phone rang sharply: making them both jump.

She let go of him with one hand to reach into her pocket, and he readjusted, pulling back slightly so that she had room to talk, but still not letting go of her. She ran her fingers through his hair as she answered it. “Hey Roan.”

“Hey Griffin, I think I can get the ball rolling on that project of yours today, but I need the number of your law investigator friend.”

“I’m not sure I’d call Diyoza a friend,” Clarke said, scrolling through her contacts and forwarding him the number. 

“Of course she is; all your friendships are weird and indefinable, Griffin,” he commented, “speaking of which, say hello to that man you’re desperately in love with and in deep denial about for me. I heard he saved me a trip and beat up Cage. So I suppose that means you’re about ready to have his babies now, right?” 

“Fuck you,” Clarke grumbled, and she heard his teasing laugh before he rang off. She groaned and buried her face in Bellamy’s chest, making him chuckle. “Roan says hello.”

“Huh.”

“He also said thank you for beating up Cage so that he didn’t have to. Obviously he would have gone himself, but his rugged physique was far too busy banging the paralegal on the third floor.” She paused, “okay, some of that might have been subtext.”

Bellamy snorted. 

She gripped him a little tighter and he tucked his chin against the crown of her head. 

“I don’t think you should be here right now, Princess. You’ve been through a traumatic thing and you need to get some rest.”

She shook her head adamantly, “I have so much work to do, and I don’t–”

“I don’t care, you need some time off and you have more than enough vacation days saved, seeing as you’ve never taken one in your life,” he grouched. She managed a small smile into his shirt, and he started stroking up and down her back. “Look, just come back to mine, I’ll make you hot chocolate, we’ll watch TV, get some takeout, and then we’ll go to yours at five so that you’re more comfortable by the time everyone arrives.”

She leaned back so she could look up at him, “you have no idea _just how perfect you are,_ do you?”

He ducked his head, self-conscious as always, and she pushed up onto her toes so she could graze her lips against his. He deepened the kiss, but only for a moment before he pulled away. 

“Come on, Princess, let’s go home.”

 _Yeah, there was no way she was going to be able to resist that._ She grabbed her things and he walked her to the elevator with his hand splayed against the small of her back. Octavia watched them from her desk the whole way, glaring daggers as they stepped in and the doors closed behind them.

* * *

* * *

When they arrived at his place, he went first, making sure all the rooms were clear, and steering her into the living room once he’d confirmed there was no-one hiding anywhere. 

He disappeared into the kitchen for a few minutes, and she sat there listening to the familiar sounds of him making drinks; the drone of the kettle, the tapping of the spoon against the mugs, the hum of satisfaction once they were done. When he returned, he put the drinks down on the coffee table in front of them and settled in to the couch beside her. It was the same as it had been so many weeks ago when she first turned up at his apartment; he was deliberately not touching her, purposefully giving her space. 

He switched on the TV, and an ad jingle was just finishing up. It wasn’t anything in particular, but one of the notes hit a jarring chord in Clarke’s chest and her breath caught in her throat. The ad was over before she could even register what it was for, but the panic stayed.

_…hark how the bells, sweet silver bells…_

“Clarke?” Bellamy whispered, and then the dam broke and she was sobbing into her hands, struggling to catch her breath. 

“I’m sorry,” she started, but he never let her finish. 

He lifted a hand and started running it through her hair, scratching her skull gently, “don’t be sorry, Clarke, never be sorry for not being okay. It’s okay. You can cry and scream and yell for as long as you want. I’m not going anywhere.”

Another wracking sob tore through her chest, and then she was almost hysterical in her gasps, fingernails scraping along her pants, catching on the material and pulling threads out. 

“It’s almost over, Clarke,” he reached out and lifted one of her hands, flipping it over on her thigh and pressing his on top of it, the way he had done at that first dinner with Cage, but this time he didn’t remove his hand. He left it there, interlocking their fingers and letting her crush his in her grip as she sat there, hyperventilating. “It’s alright Princess, I’m right here.”

“You’re here, you’re okay.”

“So are you,” he reassured her, and she cried out and shook her head. 

“No I’m not, Bellamy, _I’m not,_ I’m not okay, I’m not, _I’m not,_ I’m not,” she stammered.

“You will be,” he murmured. “I’m going to pick you up now Clarke, okay? It’s just me, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

She nodded helplessly, and then his strong arms were underneath her and he was scooping her up against his chest. She pressed her nose into his shirt and she knew she was leaving tearstains but she also knew he didn’t care. 

He laid her down on his bed, pulling the covers over her, and she reached out and caught his wrist when he tried to step back. 

“Lie here with me?” she asked.

He faltered a moment, unsure. 

“Please, just… _I don’t want to be alone,”_ she admitted, and he stepped around to the other side of the bed and crawled under the covers, still keeping a safe distance. She rolled over to face him, tears relentlessly streaming down her face, and he brushed some of them away with his thumb. He looked as wrecked as she felt, eyes deep with melancholy and shiny with unshed tears. She closed her eyes, trying to find the strength to stop crying. _“Stay...?”_

She started to slip into unconsciousness, but she still heard it when he murmured back.

“Always, Princess.”

* * *

* * *

He woke her up a few hours later, hands running through her hair as she blinked her eyes open. When they found his, it took her breath away. The way he was looking at her was mesmerising, like she was something precious and remarkable; like he never wanted to look at anything else. 

“Hey,” she said, her lips tweaking upwards slightly. 

“Hey,” he leaned in closer, which dislodged the book on his lap but he didn’t seem to notice, lips barely touching hers before he sat back, “we should get going soon, it’s nearly five.”

“You let me sleep all day?” She asked, surprised.

He nodded sheepishly. 

“And you stayed,” she realised, a note of wonder in her voice as she gazed up at him. 

“Of course I stayed,” he murmured, like it was crazy to believe anything else. “You asked me to.”

God, she loved him so much. 

_Say it now,_ she ordered herself, _now would be a perfect time, just tell him._

The moment slipped away before she could get the words right on her tongue, and he pulled the sheets aside, offering her his hand to help her up. She took it, lacing their fingers together once she was on her feet and pulling him to her side when he tried to lead her back into the hallway. 

“Thank you,” she said earnestly, hating that the words she really wanted to say were locked away, unable to leave her lips. 

He didn’t look like he minded though, his eyes softening and his fingers coming up to play with the curls dangling across her shoulder blades. 

When he finally dragged himself away, it took some effort, and he kept ahold of her hand as he guided her out to his car, only letting go once she was clambering into the passenger seat. 

“I called everyone while you were asleep; Monty, Jasper, Roan, Raven, Emori, Murphy – I also called Lincoln, to make sure he brings Octavia – and, uh…” he glanced at her as he made a left turn, “and your mother.”

Her head jerked up. “You called my mom?” 

He looked upset, “I just… I think she should know. I think she should know what she put you through, and I think she owes it to you to hear it.”

Clarke closed the space between them and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, offering him a silent thanks. 

When they arrived at her apartment building, he visibly tensed, and he only got tenser as they reached her floor. Wordlessly, he stepped in front of her, unlocking the door and scanning the open space. 

He walked her to the kitchen before checking every available nook and cranny in search of anyone who might be in there. Once he was satisfied that it was empty, he returned to find her sitting on the counter, tapping her heels against the cupboard. 

She grinned in relief as he stood in front of her. 

They were safe. 

He tugged at a strand of her hair, and when he spoke it was in a single exhale, “I’ve missed that smile.”

“God, me too,” she said, remembering the last time he’d complimented her smile. All of a sudden, all she wanted was to get her hands all over him.

She yanked at his shirt and kissed him with everything she had, taking him by surprise. It didn’t take him long to melt into it, however, hands slipping under her shirt to caress her waist because he knew how much she liked it. Unlike her desk, the countertop was high, and she was taller than him like this, head tilted down towards him and her hands resting easily about his neck. 

Bellamy was beyond patient, his hands never straying anywhere but her waist, and his lips letting hers set the pace; he didn’t seem to be in any hurry, but _she was._ She slipped her tongue in his mouth and he moaned, hands tightening fractionally around her. 

Without warning, he pulled back, and she was about to say something in annoyance, but she opened her eyes to find his staring down at her neck, her collarbone. His gaze was dark and there was something pained and guilty in it.

She lifted his chin so that he’d look up at her, and she could see the worry between his brows. 

“You’re not hurting me,” she said, before moving past his lips to press open mouthed kisses down his neck. He froze for a moment, but she grazed her teeth against his jaw as she passed and he made a small noise in the back of his throat. “I’m not–” she finally met his lips again, “–I’m not going to break, Bellamy.”

She grabbed his belt and tugged it, pulling him as close to her as she could manage, his hips meeting hers and her chest rising and falling against his. He was matching her fervour now, nibbling at her bottom lip and swallowing the gasp it drew from her. His hands had slipped around to her back, sliding up her spine to hold her yet closer, and she felt that cool sensation washing through her, making its way down to–

“I’m fine,” she said, when he slowed down again.

“I know,” he mumbled, “but I’m not.”

Her heart felt heavier all of a sudden. “Oh. Okay.”

He huffed, stroking her hair from her face, “not like that, Clarke, just… I want Cage behind bars, I want our friends to know what’s going on and I want you to be okay. And I want to be able to do this without worrying that I’m going to hurt you, or that it’s too soon. I want to do this _right,_ okay?”

 _“Oh,”_ she realised, and her heart jumped into her throat at acknowledgement that he _did_ want this, maybe as much as she did. She was almost breathless with want, but she knew he was right. She tilted her head down to rest her forehead on his. “Okay.”

“Party’s arrived, motherfuckers,” Murphy yelled out, breaking the silence. He practically skipped into the kitchen, smirking at the sight before him. “I take it back, the party was _clearly_ already here.”

“Fuck off Murphy,” they said in unison.

“Hey, I got here early but everyone else is only a few minutes away – you’re lucky I’m here to put a pin in your canoodling before Octavia arrives.”

“Good point,” Clarke conceded, jumping down from the counter, “thanks, dick.”

“You’re _so_ welcome,” he said sarcastically, trying and failing not to look pleased with himself. 

* * *

* * *

By the time the others arrived, the three of them were in the living room, Bellamy and Murphy on the couch while Clarke paced up and down. They exchanged glances and she glared at them.

“Stop it, the both of you, I’m fine!”

“Yeah you sure sound it,” Murphy raised an eyebrow at her. 

Luckily the doorbell rang before they could continue the argument, and she turned to open it but Bellamy got there first, swinging the door open and smiling at Monty, Jasper and Raven. She knew what he was doing; he didn’t want her answering the door in case it was Cage or someone sent by him, and she appreciated it, but she wished he wasn’t so eager to throw himself in the firing line. 

Soon, her apartment was filled with her friends. Murphy was on his feet, leaning against the armchair Emori was sitting on, Octavia, Lincoln and Abby were on the couch, Raven was in the other armchair, Roan had dragged a barstool in from the kitchen, and Monty and Jasper were perched on the edge of the coffee table, despite Clarke having offered to get them chairs. Bellamy was standing next to her, giving her enough space to breathe as she faced down their friends, finally ready to tell them all the whole story.

“So, you’re probably wondering why you’re here, and why I’ve been so distant lately, and…” Clarke looked around at everyone and was suddenly struck with panic. She felt dizzy. Her head started pounding to the beat of her heart. The walls were closing in and there was a distant melody playing in circles. 

She reached out for Bellamy’s hand, and instead, he curled an arm around her waist and pulled her close, stroking her arm soothingly. Monty, Jasper and Lincoln’s eyes widened, but Abby’s had narrowed, and if looks could kill, Octavia would be an executioner. 

“You all know that my mom set me up with Cage Wallace,” Clarke started again, “but what you don’t know is that she was kind of… contractually obligated to do it.”

“Clarke,” her mother said warningly. 

“Be quiet, Mrs Griffin,” Bellamy growled, and Abby’s mouth snapped shut in surprise. 

“It’s okay, it’s not her fault,” Clarke reached for his free hand and stared down at their laced fingers, unable to look at her friends any longer. She didn’t want to see the pity in their eyes when she told them. “Cage Wallace… we all know what the Wallaces are, that’s no secret, not in Polis. Uh, my Mom, she owed them a kind of favour, and when they asked me to date Cage, I didn’t object, because it was just for a few months, and it would help us both in our careers, or- anyway, Cage was charming, but… uh…”

She gripped at Bellamy’s hand a little tighter, trying to use him as an anchor back to earth. 

_…hark how the bells, sweet silver bells…_

“When we all went out to The Dead Zone, he… he cornered me in the alley and–” she cut herself off, the words catching in her throat as it tried to close around them. She took a deep breath, “he tried to rape me.”

She barely held onto her senses long enough to hear the horrified gasps of her friends and the almost animalistic noise that Abby made, and then there was only Cage’s voice in her ear telling her she belonged to him, calling her a whore. She shook her head, trying to shake him off, but he was still there, yanking at her dress and wrapping his fingers around her throat.

“Clarke,” Bellamy’s lips were pressed against the shell of her ear, and when he spoke it vibrated through her, bringing her hurtling back to the present, “what do you need?”

She leaned more heavily against him, her free arm coming up over his on her waist.

“Nothing, I’m good, I’m fine, I’m okay.” He opened his mouth to protest but she gripped his hand and raised her voice so her friends could hear her again. “I fought him off, and when I ran, I bumped into Bellamy. He tried to get me out of there, but Cage caught up, and when he tried to grab me, Bellamy punched him.”

“Good.” Roan said, voice hard and unforgiving. 

“Bellamy took me back to O’s, and he,” she couldn’t take her eyes off their intertwined hands, “he took care of me. He made sure I wasn’t badly hurt, he calmed me down, he lied to Octavia for me, he talked to you, Mom. He’s been amazing.”

She felt his blush, and she knew he was about to refute her accusations of kindness, so she quickly forged ahead.

“I kept dating Cage, to appease Dante and to keep the Wallaces off my mom. It was only going to be for two months. I told myself that two months was nothing, that everything would be fine. Then, an investigator at _Pramheda_ law firm reached out–”

“I would hardly call leaving a suspicious package at your apartment _‘reaching out’,_ but go off, I guess,” Murphy snarked.

“–and she wanted my help taking the Wallaces down, not just for me, but for all the people they were hurting, and I agreed. So last night, when he came to pick me up for our weekly public date, we had recording equipment set up, and I tried to bait him into confessing to knowing about Wells’ murder, but instead he told me he was the person responsible for… _he shot Wells.”_

_...hark how the bells, sweet silver bells..._

Abby’s sob was unexpected, and it made her jump, but she still couldn’t bring herself to look up.

“He attacked me and tried to kill me, but I fought him off, and then he ran before security could catch him.”

There was a long, uncomfortable silence as everyone absorbed the information, only broken by the harsh crying of Clarke’s mother, and the occasional distressed noise from one of her friends. It was a lot, she knew that. 

She could hear the quake in Octavia’s voice when she said, “that morning I found you guys in my room, that was…?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m so sorry Clarke,” Abby spoke up, still sniffling, “this is _all my fault,_ if I hadn’t pushed you to accept Dante’s terms in the first place, you would never have been in that position in the first place. _I’m so sorry baby,_ I’m so, _so_ sorry.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” Clarke whispered.

“Clarke,” that was Monty, “you mean you’ve been carrying this all alone, for months?”

“I haven’t been alone.”

“You know what I mean,” he said quietly. 

“No, I, it’s _fine,_ I’m _fine,”_ she said, but even she wasn’t convinced that time. “I’m sorry, I just, I couldn’t tell you; I didn’t want you to know. I was so scared you’d do something stupid and go after him, or end up on his radar because you protected me, and the Wallaces are so powerful. Then, Cage sent men to beat up Bellamy just to prove he could, and I _knew_ I couldn't tell any of you. I couldn’t risk it. I can’t put any of you in danger like that. Bellamy, Murphy and Emori knew because they got me away from Cage, but I made them swear not to tell anyone else. It was easier to let you hate me or think I didn’t care than for me to be the reason you were hurt.”

“But I was so horrible to you. I accused you of cheating on Cage with Bellamy, and I said so many awful things,” Octavia’s voice sounded muffled, like she’d buried her face in her hands, and Clarke shook her head. 

“I told Bellamy, I don’t care. I just needed you safe. If you had retaliated in any way, the Wallaces would have hurt you, or _killed_ you. You would have gone after him, Octavia; I love you but you’re a hothead, and you would have gotten yourself killed.” Her brain started whirring with frantic worry again, and her nails dug into Bellamy’s forearms.

He knew immediately where her mind was, “Clarke, I’m fine.”

“You idiot,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes closed, “You fucking idiot, Cage is going to kill you.”

“Clarke.”

“I told you not to, I _told_ you,” her voice was rising hysterically, “I can’t lose you, Bellamy, I can’t, I can’t, _I can’t–”_

“You’re not going to, it’s okay, Clarke, just breathe,” he brought one hand up to stroke her hair and pressed his lips against her temple, holding her to him gently. “We’re going to be okay.”

“Two days,” she sagged in his arms and he adjusted his arms before she managed to drop to her knees: carrying her weight. There was moisture on her cheeks again, and she wondered if she’d ever stop crying over this, “You couldn’t have held off for _two days?”_

“No I couldn’t,” he insisted, “Not when he was going to hide here and wait for you. Not when he was saying those things. Not when I almost lost you once. I almost killed him, Clarke. I was _unhinged,_ I just couldn’t stop hitting him, and then I saw what I was doing, and I- I’m not becoming a monster like him. _I won’t.”_

“I know,” she murmured. She never would have fallen in love with him otherwise. 

“He beat up Cage?” Jasper sounded impressed.

“He hurt Clarke.” Bellamy said simply. He was running his thumb up and down hers in time with her breathing and she stared at it, mesmerised.

“That was _stupid,_ you could have gotten yourself killed,” Octavia snapped.

Clarke almost smiled, “that’s what I said. I explicitly told him not to go after Cage and the dumbass did it anyway.”

“I really was going to leave it alone,” he clenched his jaw, “I just… I couldn’t, Clarke. I couldn’t let him…” He trailed off, and she knew what he was trying not to vocalise. 

She finally tore her eyes from their hands and looked up at her friends. She was surprised to find that instead of pity, there was anger and frustration and helplessness. And _love._ Monty looked ready to fight someone, which was highly unusual for Monty, and Jasper was watching her carefully, sympathy in his eyes. Abby’s face was buried in her palms, and Roan had his arms crossed and taut; tensed for a fight. Lincoln was holding Octavia’s hand and he looked upset; almost guilty. Clarke wondered if he was trying to blame himself; because it happened at the club he worked at while he was on shift. She hoped he knew that it wasn’t his fault. Octavia’s eyes were red and she was hastily wiping tears from her eyes. Clarke felt like maybe her pocket universe was expanding again. There was a sense of protectiveness hanging in the air, keeping the heat away from her skin, letting her move. 

There was another pause, until;

“So,” Octavia looked devious, “if you weren’t sleeping together this whole time, why were you and Bellamy making out on your desk when I walked in?”

Jasper and Monty yelled, “I knew it!” at the same time and then self-fived.

“Finally,” Roan grumbled, but he was beaming at them. Murphy and Emori just subtly low-fived, sharing knowing grins. 

Clarke flushed scarlet, “I, it’s, I don’t…”

“Because I told her I loved her,” Bellamy admitted, “and she got angry at me.”

Octavia snorted, a noise which quickly became something of a cackle, and she starting coughing, because she was laughing so hard that air went down the wrong pipe. Soon the entire room was laughing at their expense, and Bellamy pressed his head into Clarke’s shoulder, embarrassed. Clarke tried to stop a smile from gracing her own face but she couldn’t help it. 

“I hate you all,” he grumbled. 

“Sorry,” Octavia wheezed, “It’s just, it’s _perfect._ If you two were ever going to get together, that’s exactly how I pictured it. That’s amazing.”

“He interrupted me, and I just kept right on yelling,” Clarke jumped in, delighting in his discomfort, “and then I got even more angry at him because he was being all detached and hovering and treating me like I could be blown over by a stiff breeze, and it made me _so mad._ So I called him out on it, and then suddenly I was on my desk and, well, you saw where that was going.”

She felt Bellamy’s smile against the crook of her neck before he looked up again, resting his chin on her shoulder.

Octavia made a face, “Yep, and I would like to never discuss that again. It’s burned into my eyeballs.”

“You’re lucky we still had clothes on,” there was a shit-eating grin on Bellamy’s face now. 

“NOPE! No, if this is happening, we’re not gonna talk about it. I don’t want to know anything about your sex life; I’d like to go on pretending that it doesn’t exist, thanks.”

Bellamy rolled his eyes and tugged Clarke closer, “It’s not much of a sex life yet, seeing as we, y’know, haven’t had sex.”

“What did I _just_ say?” Octavia was back to looking murderous again. 

“I thought that’s what you wanted – for us not to be having sex?”

“Yeah, but now I know that you’re going to in the future, and I hate it.”

“O, you’re being ridiculous, that’s–”

 _“Please stop talking,”_ Clarke groaned, and he chuckled. 

“Sorry, Princess.”

Roan leaned forward conspiratorially, but he spoke loud enough for everyone to hear when he said, “Once your mom’s gone home, I will expect every single detail, Griffin.”

Clarke cringed and shot Abby a glance, but the woman was just staring at Bellamy with a laser focus, something she wasn’t saying contained in the space between her eyebrows. Clarke sighed, turning a disapproving gaze on Roan, “I hate you.”

Murphy opened his mouth.

She turned on him, “ _and_ you.”

He closed it, grinning. 

“Alright, I think it’s time for some food, don’t you?” Bellamy suggested, and when everyone violently enthused their agreement, he chuckled and picked up the phone to call for takeout. Jasper and Monty started chanting, _“shrimp fried rice! Shrimp fried rice!”_ while everyone else just wanted pizza, so he compromised and called both places to keep everyone happy. The room settled into an easy buzz of conversations, Clarke catching up with Jasper and Monty and listening to Lincoln's hilarious work stories.

Without any warning, there was a knock at the door. 

Everyone froze. 

“Did you invite anyone else?” Clarke asked Bellamy, but he just shook his head and moved to the door. Clarke got to her feet, hovering anxiously as he stuck his eye against the peephole. 

He frowned, opening the door to reveal Diyoza and Madi on the other side. Madi immediately sprinted across the room and launched herself at Clarke, who just barely managed to catch her, stumbling with the force of it.

The nine-year-old looked up at her with wide eyes, “I was scared. I thought you were going to be hurt.”

“I’m okay, Madi, we’re going to be okay,” Clarke said. 

“Apparently so,” Diyoza said cryptically.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Murphy asked. 

“Turn on the TV,” was all Diyoza said, before nodding politely at everyone, half of whom nodded back and half of whom just looked confused.

Murphy was somehow already holding the remote, and he quickly managed to navigate to the right channel with Diyoza’s instructions. 

There was a _BREAKING NEWS_ banner running across the bottom of the screen, and the newscaster was mid-sentence, “…on the scene say that Mr Wallace was found dead of a gunshot wound to the head. It is not yet known who shot him, but his father, esteemed senator Dante Wallace, is said to be inconsolable and refuses to give a statement to press at this time.”

Clarke’s jaw dropped. 

The whole room was frozen in shock.

Bellamy's eyes were on her, but she couldn't drag hers away from the screen, even after Murphy turned it off.

She decided that nothing would surprise her anymore.

Until Diyoza spoke again.

"He's not dead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THOUGHTS??????
> 
> I'm so glad you're still reading and invested (if you've made it this far, I'm sending you so many virtual hugs and delighted smiles) and I hope you liked this chapter, because I really loved writing it. 
> 
> THREE MORE CHAPTER TO GO!!! _(and then the sequel)_ I AM SO SAD BUT ALSO SO HAPPY THAT ALL OF YOU TOOK TO THIS STORY AS MUCH AS I DID. YOU'RE ALL AMAZING AND YOUR KUDOS AND COMMENTS GIVE ME LIFE AND OXYGEN AND PROBABLY MELATONIN, I DON'T KNOW.  <3 <3 <3
> 
> EDIT: I've updated the chapter count. Please don't kill me, the length of the last chapter was frankly INSANE, so I had to split it up. On the plus side, that should mean faster updates because I essentially have Chapter 22 almost finished. i love you guys <3


	22. I Hate This Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke has a rough few hours and Bellamy worries............... so this fic in a nutshell?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic got nominated for the **Bellarke Fanwork Awards** and so did I, and I am BEYOND EXCITED!!! 
> 
> OH MY GOD, I'M SO LUCKY TO BE NOMINATED AND I LOVE EVERYONE WHO HAS READ THIS FIC AND ENJOYED IT, AND I'M JUST... I'M SO CHUFFED. I'VE BEEN HAPPY CRYING ABOUT THIS FOR THE LAST COUPLE OF DAYS, AND I JUST WANTED TO EXPRESS HOW COMPLETELY, TOTALLY GRATEFUL I AM FOR EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU. I'M SO LUCKY THAT YOU LIKE THIS STORY, AND MY WRITING, AND I ADORE YOU ALL.
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!!

Diyoza kept tapping her fingers against her crossed arms while she spoke, and Clarke was staring at the movement, trying to refocus. 

She was struck with the urgent need to sit down. 

Raven was on her laptop, typing furiously, and Emori and Lincoln were leaning over her shoulder, watching the screen. Monty was frowning at something on the wall, and he elbowed Jasper to look at it too. Octavia was offering a glass of water to Abby, who looked more than a little exhausted. Roan was on the phone to someone, but he was looking at Clarke, worry on his face. Madi had reattached herself to Clarke’s waist, hugging her tight, but Murphy had vanished and Bellamy was pacing up and down, deep in thought.

“He faked it,” Diyoza was saying, “presumably his father helped, considering the reputable sources the reporters got their information from. According to one of mine, he’s hiding out in a motel off Tower Road. I’ve got Vinnie on it, seeing as you don’t need him at your work anymore.” 

“Okay,” Clarke acknowledged, detached. 

She could feel eyes watching her sympathetically, apprehensively, and all she wanted was to get out of there. 

Diyoza stepped forward and put a hand on her arm reassuringly. “You don’t have to do this, Clarke. You’ve done enough, you can just move on with your life. I’ve got all the evidence we need, and we never need to even mention you; you don’t need to get dragged into this. We’ve got him on Wells’ murder alone.”

She shook her head, bringing herself back into the present. “No. I’m good; I’m doing this.”

Diyoza squeezed her shoulder once before letting go and turning to address the rest of the group. She’d barely opened her mouth, however, before Jasper and Monty leapt to their feet.

“We should go out for dinner, right?” Jasper suggested excitably. 

Octavia frowned, “didn’t we just order in?”

“Yeah, but we should celebrate the fact that Clarke is alive and well and protected,” Monty chimed in, and there was something in his expression that Clarke recognised. It was the same look he and Jasper always got when they were planning something. 

“Okay,” she said, eyeing them up. Jasper visibly sagged in relief, and Monty offered her a smile. 

He pulled her into a hug and whispered in her ear, “we think your place is bugged.”

When he pulled away he was still smiling, but she could see the concern behind it, and she forced a look of calm onto her own face. _Shit._ Clarke’s pulse started jumping again and she struggled to maintain her relaxed façade as her brain started whirring with the possibilities – _who had bugged her? Dante or Cage? Were they watching now? How much had they seen?_

_FUCK._

She ran her hands through Madi’s hair while she thought through what to do. She looked past them, at Bellamy, and said, “hey, why don’t we all go home and get changed first?”

He raised an eyebrow, confused, and she widened her eyes at him before flicking them to the door. 

“Alright,” he shrugged off his uncertainty and walked over to it, pulling it open. He held it as Jasper and Monty walked out, nodding at him conspiratorially, “let’s get dinner.”

Everyone filed out, exchanging glances suspiciously, but luckily no-one asked why the sudden change of venue and they got into the elevator without any fuss. 

“Alright, go home, we’ll meet somewhere in an hour, I’ll text you,” Clarke said quietly, and everyone muttered their assent. 

“They know Madi’s been staying with me for the trial, I think it’s safer if she stays with you,” Diyoza suggested, “besides, I need to do some investigating, and I have no interest in putting a child in harm’s way.”

“Yeah, we’ll take her,” Clarke said, holding the child’s hand tightly, “Octavia’s?”

“Good idea,” Bellamy said as Octavia nodded, and Madi smiled nervously up at them.

Murphy, who had rather dramatically reappeared just as they were all entering the elevator, leaned over to Raven and stage-whispered, “pity, I bet Bellamy and Clarke were hoping to bo–”

“If you want to keep your limbs, do not finish that sentence,” Clarke snapped, and he grinned smugly at her until Emori smacked him upside the head.

* * *

* * *

Bellamy, Clarke and Madi stopped off at his place before they went to Octavia’s, so Bellamy could pick up some of Clarke’s stuff, which almost immediately resulted in an incredibly awkward discussion with Madi.

“Why is Clarke’s stuff here if she has her own apartment?”

Bellamy froze with his hand on one of Clarke’s casefiles, “uh…”

Clarke picked up her favourite pair of pyjamas from his bedroom floor and brushed past him and into the kitchen. She tried to pretend she hadn’t heard the question until he turned helpless eyes on her and she sighed. “Because he’s my best friend, and we have sleepovers sometimes.”

“Oh, okay,” Madi said, and for a moment, Clarke thought that might have been the end of it. 

Until;

“So he’s not your boyfriend then?”

Clarke tensed, pointedly not making eye contact with anyone. _Was he her boyfriend? He loved her… was that enough of an answer? She hadn’t said it back, so were they dating? Were they still just friends? Would he have a different answer to this question than she did?_ She realised she was still standing there, mouth open as if about to speak, and was saved from having to answer when her back pocket buzzed loudly. She grabbed hastily for her phone, “Murphy says that he and Emori think they might have an idea of a place we can go.”

“I thought we were just going to Diyoza’s café?” Bellamy asked, confused.

“No, she texted me while you were driving – she went back and realised it was bugged, so she’s at her own apartment now, keeping her head down. We need somewhere new. Apparently Emori has real estate contacts.”

“Of course she does,” he muttered, stuffing the last of the papers in his hands into a bag. “Come on, O’s waiting.”

They followed him to the car just as Murphy sent through an address and when they arrived at Octavia’s flat, barely a five-minute drive away, she and Lincoln were already leaning against the side of her car. 

“Murphy said he found a place,” she said as Bellamy pulled up beside them, his window already rolled down. She hopped onto the step and spoke lowly, so only the people in the car could hear, fingers drumming against the roof. “But Diyoza called – she wants me at work to keep an eye on Nia in case Dante calls for legal advice, and she wants Lincoln to call a few of his buddies who work at the downtown police station and tip them off about the motel Cage is staying in before he can relocate. So we’re probably going to be delayed a while before we head over there.”

“As long as whatever you’re doing, you don’t get caught, O,” he said.

“We should probably take separate cars then, right?” Octavia chewed on her lip apprehensively.

“Yeah, that’s probably the smart thing to do,” Clarke agreed, “we’ll go now, you give it five minutes and then follow?”

Lincoln was nodding as he opened the driver door and sat down, and Octavia reached through the window to hug her brother. When she pulled back, she was still half in the car, and she glanced over at Clarke. It was awkward for a beat, but it passed the second she reached out and clasped Clarke’s hand in her own. 

“I love you, Clarke, you know that, right?” She uttered, sincerer than she’d ever been. 

Clarke swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat, “yeah I know. Love you too, O.”

Octavia released her and jumped down, and they peeled away from the curb towards midtown. Clarke directed Bellamy from the passenger seat, snarking at him whenever he missed a turning and he responded by sniping at her inability to direct him with enough time to turn off. Madi watched them from the backseat, amused, but remained mercifully silent for the entire short trip.

* * *

* * *

The building was three stories high, one of those old redbrick warehouses, and the lights were on in the bottom floor windows. 

Murphy greeted them at the door with an easy smile, “we’ve got this place until the next showing tomorrow, so make yourself at home, but like, not too at home.”

Emori, Raven and Diyoza were sitting around a table having an argument in hushed tones, while Monty and Jasper were leaning over Raven’s laptop, frowning at whatever was on the screen.

Her phone buzzed.

**ROAN 8:24pm:**  
_It’s done._  
_I would come over, but I have a_  
_dinner engagement with my mother._

**ROAN 8:24pm:**  
_Please kill me._

She wanted to laugh at his dramatics, but she just looked to Diyoza, “Roan says we’re good to go.”

Diyoza nodded, and Raven frowned between the two of them, but didn’t push it. 

Bellamy came up behind and wrapped his arm around her waist, “good to go with what?”

“He’s set up a business for me. Well, actually, you, me and Diyoza.”

“Me?” Bellamy frowned. 

“If you want to,” she said, “he’s bringing the paperwork down later.”

“What business?” He shifted so she could turn and look him in the eyes, and there was that familiar concerned crease between his brows. She wanted to smooth it away, so she stretched up on her toes and kissed the closest part of his jaw softly. He squeezed her side in response.

“A law firm,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Don’t forget the PI work,” Diyoza piped up.

“A joint law firm and investigative agency?” He asked, and the frown deepened into one of intense scrutiny rather than worry. “Why do you need one now?”

“Because Clarke is going to represent Thelonius Jaha in the case against Cage Wallace.”

“What?!” Bellamy’s jaw dropped, “I didn’t even know he was still in Polis?”

“He isn’t, he left after Wells’ funeral. Went on some kind of self-discovery trail; avoided all human contact for a while, kept away from the internet. He was sick of seeing conspiracy theories, or hearing abuse about Wells or himself. Last I heard, he was in Nepal,” Clarke explained.

“And Abby has his phone number,” Raven jumped in, “so when we all split up, Diyoza tracked him down. It took some convincing, to promise him that we were on the level, but eventually he agreed. Abby’s picking him up from the airport tomorrow and bringing him straight to court.”

“That’s… this is insane,” Bellamy scrubbed a hand down his face. 

“It’s about to get even more crazy, because I was talking to my estate agent friend, and he says no-one’s put in any bids for this place yet.” Emori said, drumming her fingers against the desk, “which means the asking price will be low. Which means, if we play our cards right, by tomorrow morning, we’ll have a business set up, a building to operate out of, and our first client.”

Clarke blinked. 

She hadn’t really stopped to let herself think in the last few days. It had been a whirlwind of panic and mayhem, and now that the reality of the situation had been laid out it from of her, she was surprised to find that they were doing okay. 

They were doing more than okay – they were working together, all of them. 

They were _building something._

Together. 

“Speaking of playing our cards right,” Clarke said slowly, “I think I have a very, _very_ bad idea.”

* * *

* * *

_“Absolutely not,”_ Bellamy said vehemently, for the hundredth time.

They were all sitting together, the full moon high in the sky and making the already well-lit room even brighter, bunched up on the couch or sitting on the floor close to it. Monty and Raven were hooking her phone up to something, and Jasper was making cocktails, supposedly to “calm everyone down” but really to keep himself busy. 

“Why not?! I think it’s a great plan,” Raven protested.

“Of course you do, you helped come up with it,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “antagonising the son of The Godfather is not a great plan, Raven.”

“He’s gonna sleep with the fishes,” Murphy deadpanned, prompting Bellamy to roll his eyes so aggressively Clarke though he might have sprained a muscle. 

“We’re gonna make him an offer he can’t refuse,” Clarke teased and he glared at her. 

“Are you kidding me?” He seemed especially disapproving that she was joining in with the amusement, probably more out of worry than anything else.

“You’re the one who brought up The Godfather. Would you prefer _‘you come into this house on the day my daughter is to be married–”_

“Please stop,” he said weakly, and she complied, giving him a sympathetic look. 

“We’re doing it, Bellamy.”

“I know I can’t stop you, I just thought I’d express my concerns,” he grumbled, and after a beat, _“I hate this plan.”_

Emori patted his arm genially, “If it helps, I also dislike this idea, but unfortunately, I don’t think we get a say. This is entirely Clarke’s decision to make.”

Bellamy sighed and put his feet up on the coffee table, “I know. I still hate this plan.”

Emori snorted and Murphy shot them both a disapproving look, which felt weird coming from the person those looks were usually being directed at. Clarke bit her lip nervously, still not entirely on board with the idea, even though it had been hers to begin with.

“You don’t have to,” Murphy said suddenly, “talk to him, I mean. I could do it, if you don’t want to.”

Clarke shook her head. She needed to do this. 

She dialled the phone. 

He answered after one ring.

“How did you get this number, Clarke?” Cage’s voice rang out through the tinny speaker, and she felt her palms get clammy almost immediately, but she pushed through it. Everyone was staring at the phone where it sat on the coffee table, their expressions a mixture of disgust and fear. She couldn't blame them. Madi was holding herself together, her face a mask of stone, but Clarke recognised that marble facade because it was the one she wore every day - the girl was terrified. She reached out and put her hand on Madi's shoulder, trying to be reassuring, and she leaned into the touch. 

Raven was staring at the screen of her laptop which was covered in surveillance camera footage and was hooked up to a police scanner, and she looked over and nodded, confirming Clarke's suspicions. 

Cage was on the move.

Clarke reminded herself to breathe.

“That doesn’t matter,” she said coolly, and she was proud of how unruffled she sounded, “I need to ask you a question.”

“I think you’ve done enough,” Cage hissed.

“Oh, I’m just getting started.” Clarke grinned; almost genuine, but mostly for show. She knew he could hear her smile down the line, because she heard something crack – the familiar sound of a fist against a hard surface. 

“No-one knows I’m alive, Clarke,” he barked, in an effort to regain control of the conversation, “and if you record this conversation, I’ll have Diyoza’s lackey killed.”

Diyoza sat forward, “what did you do to Vinnie?”

“My men have him. I’d tread very carefully if I were you,” there was that unmistakeable smugness to his tone now. “You can’t touch me.”

“Yes I can,” Clarke said, “I learned from you that it doesn’t matter if you don’t want me to or not. We’re coming for you, Cage. You can’t kill all of us.”

“You think I can’t get to your apartment from here, Clarke? Everyone in Polis thinks I’m dead. I can move about as freely as I wish. I could take Madi."

The girl gasped and Clarke shook her head at her; a silent promise that she would never let anything happen to her. 

Cage was still speaking, "I could come for you, or your friends, or your mother. I could find Bellamy.”

Clarke’s heart thumped a little too hard against her sternum.

“I could hunt him down, Clarke,” he was snarling and it sounded twisted; just as it had been in the alley when he threatened her. “I could rip him into tiny little pieces and make you watch.”

“Don’t touch him,” she whispered, and Bellamy slipped his fingers through hers. 

“I could destroy you, Clarke Griffin, just like I did to Madi's parents, or your friend,” he laughed, “Wells was an unfortunate casualty of a business transaction no-one knew was happening. You can be the same.”

“Don’t threaten me,” she said, voice harsh and so unlike hers. 

“Accidents happen,” he said breezily.

“Yeah, so I’ve heard,” Clarke snapped, “to defenceless people who just happened to be in your way. To all those women who realised you couldn’t get it up and tried to leave you. To all those people who realised just how pathetic you are and left you behind. Accidents just tend to happen around you, don’t they?”

Octavia and Lincoln sidled into the room, grinning wildly.

“I’m not the pathetic one here, Clarke,” he said nastily, and his voice sounded louder, “what’s pathetic is thinking that if you move to a warehouse to hide, I won’t find you.”

Clarke’s heart was now so loud it was a struggle to hear him, but she pushed forward anyway. “Yeah. You would think I’d learned how to cover my tracks by now." 

“It’s not your–” he faltered, and now she could clearly hear him echoing from his position outside the window, “what?!”

There was an agonising second where she thought it was too late.

And then the entire building was flooded with flashing lights.

Her ears were ringing with the sound of sirens and the rhythm of her heart as it pounded.

Cage was shouting something, but she didn't care because there was the noise of twenty policemen cocking their guns in his direction. 

Octavia was hugging Bellamy over the back of the couch while Lincoln radioed one of the officers outside, and Bellamy's fingers were still wrapped around her own, holding her in the calm even as her skin raged with heat. Jasper and Monty had dived to the ground the second the police cars appeared, and Madi was curled up against Clarke's legs, clinging to them as tight as she could. Raven and Diyoza looked calm, but the relief was palable on both their faces, and Murphy and Emori were kissing in the corner. In a single moment, it was like the universe righted itself on its axis. Not all the way, but a little. 

_Enough._

There were sounds of a scuffle, but Clarke didn’t move. 

She just stared down at the phone, waiting for it all to be over. 

It wasn’t until a gruff looking man in a police uniform walked over to them that she managed to tear her eyes away. 

“We got him. He’s on his way to a cosy jail cell as we speak,” he said. 

“Thanks Nyko,” Lincoln said, bringing the man into a bear-hug. “Truly, we appreciate your help.”

“Not as much as we appreciate yours,” he admitted, “we weren’t even looking for him. Clever bastard.”

“Not clever, just sneaky.” Diyoza griped, “there’s a difference.”

Nyko reached an arm out to Clarke, and she took it gingerly. He shook her hand, clasping it in both of his with all the warmth and sincerity of someone who’d known her for years, rather than someone she’d met once or twice when he was doing bodyguard shifts on his nights off from the station.

“That was a brave thing you did, Miss Griffin,” he said and she ducked her head, refusing to accept the words. He didn’t push it, he just released her and stepped away, yelling something to one of the men standing by the door. 

Cage was in jail.

Cage was _going to trial._

They were going to be okay. 

Clarke didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or cry, and as the last of the lights faded from view and the sirens carried down the street, she looked around the room at her friends.

“Jasper, where are those cocktails?” She asked.

He beamed, “God, I was really hoping you’d ask.”

He handed out a series of brightly coloured concoctions, but when he reached Diyoza she just smiled and shook her head. 

“Not really my thing at the moment,” Diyoza gestured to the baby bump before turning to Clarke, “but I’d love to visit you in the courtroom sometime – something tells me you’re good at getting witnesses to crack on the stand.”

“More like getting the opposition to cry like babies,” Octavia grinned widely. Lincoln looked like he was trying not to laugh.

Clarke groaned, “that was _one time,_ O, and Ilian told me afterwards that there were no hard feelings.”

“I’m sorry, you made _opposing council_ cry?” Lincoln asked, and his hand could no longer conceal his laughter, because his shoulders were shaking, and he was rocking slightly. Octavia was beaming, Madi was staring up at her wide-eyed, and even Bellamy looked like he was pressing his lips together to avoid smiling.

“It wasn’t on purpose! I just… kept winning cases against him, and then one day he had enough, and after I won yet another one, he had a minor breakdown, in front of his client.” She felt bad, and her friends’ giggles weren’t helping, “I felt awful, the poor guy was so upset, but it wasn’t exactly my fault.”

“To be fair, you did wipe the floor with him that day,” Octavia pointed out, and she was right. She often went into the courtroom to watch Clarke, under the guise of dropping something off or some other such lie if people asked why she wasn’t at her desk, and she had been there that day too. It had been pretty rough – the guy had bawled in front of the judge. 

“Yeah,” Clarke mused, worrying her bottom lip, “he shouldn’t have cried in the room. He should have held it in until he got to the restroom, like the rest of us. But, I don’t know, maybe it was one too many losses. Sometimes things get pent up and you can’t hold it in anymore.”

There was a pause, before Raven asked, “You cry after court?”

“Of course I do,” Clarke frowned at her, “I mean, it’s not a regular occurrence, but sometimes cases get to you, and you have to sneak into a toilet cubicle and…”

“…Cry?” Octavia couldn’t shake the bemused look from her face, “that’s so weird, I always just assumed that nothing ever gets to you – you seem as cold as steel when you’re up there, and even around the office, your nickname is Wanheda, cause you’re so stoic and together, even in the face of terrible odds.”

Clarke closed her eyes briefly, “that’s not why they call me that.”

“What? Yes it is,” Octavia retorted. 

She shook her head, “No, it isn’t. It’s because Ontari hates me. When Roan and I… had our _thing…_ Ontari got jealous, and started piling cases on my desk with people that she was _certain_ had committed the crimes they were accused of. I either had to get those people off, or let them go to jail where they belonged, but run the risk of being seen as a worse lawyer.”

“What did you pick?” Monty asked, as if he needed to – they all knew the answer.

“Either way, Ontari was going to win, so I did what my dad would have done: the right thing. I tanked them,” Clarke said, “let them fail, although with evidence that damning, it was a wonder they bothered with court at all. Some of them, in my research, turned out to be innocent, and I did my best to save them. But Ontari didn’t let it go – she told everyone that I was a failure of a lawyer, that I’d be the kiss of death for the firm, and then that goddamn nickname sprung up – _Wanheda: Commander of Death.”_

“Shit, Clarke, I didn’t know that,” Octavia breathed. 

“Yeah, well, once I worked out that people were calling me that, I leaned into it – acted like I was called Wanheda because I killed it in the courtroom, and eventually, once enough people had seen the evidence of that, it came to mean something different. It became _my_ name, not Ontari’s taunt. But that doesn't make it any better. I still hate it.”

Bellamy was staring at her, his face blank, but something unreadable in his eyes, like he wanted to say something but didn’t feel entitled to. She gazed back at him, trying to discern what it was, wishing she could read that damn expression.

Monty snapped her out of her reverie by clapping her on the back, “you’re such a badass, Clarke.”

She chuckled, “I try.”

* * *

* * *

Everyone had split into separate rooms over the last few hours, most of them trailing off to the bedrooms upstairs in an attempt to get some sleep. However, Clarke wanted to get as much paperwork done as possible, not to mention start writing her opening statement, and Bellamy didn’t want her staying up alone. So the two of them were sitting on the couch in the main open space on the bottom floor, files upon files on the coffee table and her legs in his lap. She'd been trying to write the damn statement for fifteen minutes but she just couldn't seem to focus with Bellamy right there, face screwed up in concentration as he read through the contract Roan had sent them and the evidence they had on Cage. 

He reached behind her for another pen and she got distracted by his proximity, eyes caught on his lips again. A flash of his hands against her skin and his mouth on hers flickered across her mind and she swallowed nervously. How was she ever supposed to concentrate when she knew exactly how amazing he was at that? 

He returned to his original position, scrawling something on one of the folders on her thigh, but she couldn’t tear her eyes off his face. She didn’t know how long she’d been watching him, but eventually he stopped and cleared his throat and she snapped out of it, flushing with embarrassment. He frowned at her, and leaned forward. 

His lips ghosted her ear when he murmured, “stop thinking about it. You’re being distracting.”

She dug her nails into the back of his hand for emphasis when she replied, “I can’t help it. It’s your own damn fault; maybe try being less attractive.”

She felt, rather than saw, his smile and he brushed his lips against her ear more deliberately, sending shivers down her spine, “was that a compliment, Princess?”

“Never,” she retorted, grinning, and he moved down a little, nibbling at her earlobe. Her breath caught in her throat and she gripped his hand even tighter, trying desperately to think of anything but the sudden warmth below her stomach.

He chuckled, “are you sure about that?”

He started brushing his lips along her jaw and she squirmed impatiently. 

“Bellamy, I swear to god, if you don’t kiss me soon, I’ll–”

He pressed his lips to hers and she released his hand, relaxing into it immediately. She tangled her fingers in his hair and he brought his hands up to her face, stroking a thumb across her cheek. Kissing Bellamy was like taking a shower after a long day – it was calming and warm and it made every part of her feel more alive. She wished it could go on forever, but she knew it couldn’t; anyone could just walk in at any time, and she had work to do. When he pulled back, he didn’t go far. 

“We should probably talk about this,” he murmured. 

“Talking’s overrated,” she said absentmindedly, back to staring at his lips and wondering why they weren’t kissing hers.

“Clarke,” he said sternly.

She sighed, long and loud, and tipped her head against his shoulder, “you’re my best friend, Bellamy, and obviously we’ve still got a while to go before I’m a hundred percent again, but for now, can’t this be enough? Why are we talking when you could be kissing me? I miss being kissed and you’re kind of unreasonably good at it.”

His voice was low and gravelly when he asked, “Really?” 

She groaned, “and if you really want me to stop, you need to stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Talking like that.”

“How am I talking?”

“I hate you.”

He laughed and kissed her hair, “Come on Princess, back to work.”

She huffed unhappily, but she begrudgingly sat up and returned to flicking through various books to find something she could use. He was leaning over her knees while he read something, and one of his hands started sliding up and down her shin, from her knee to her ankle and back again, and it was driving her insane. She wasn’t even sure he knew what he was doing, until he shifted so that his palm was underneath her leg, and started moving slower, his hand slipping higher. 

Her head fell back against the arm of the sofa with a dull thump. 

“I hate you,” she repeated, this time directing it to the ceiling instead of his bicep.

He squinted at her, trying to hide his smile, “no you don’t.”

“Yes I do,” she said, her breath hitching slightly when he reached the underside of her thigh. 

He stopped his trajectory, his palm still pressed against her, “if you want me to stop, you know you just have to say the word, right?”

She felt her heart constrict painfully again – that familiar ache to tell him how much she loved him taking residence in her chest – and she reached for the hand she’d let go of earlier. He slipped his fingers between hers and she almost told him right there. 

She kept almost letting the words slip between her lips; when he leaned forward to capture them with his; when he slid the hand under her thigh back to her knee and pulled her forward, like he had weeks ago, pulling her until she was practically in his lap. When he started trailing kisses down her neck; everything he did made her desperate to say the words, but she could never quite manage to utter them. 

“I thought you wanted me to get some work done?”

“No, _you_ want to get some work done, and I don’t want to get in the way,” he said, teeth scraping lightly against her jaw, “but seeing as you don’t seem to care that much…”

She wanted to retort, but his hand had come up to cup her jaw, and in the process had slid around her neck, just for a moment, but enough to make her throat close up a little with the ghost of Wallace's fingers around it.

Bellamy sat back immediately.

“Clarke, are you okay? What did I do?”

“Nothing, I’m fine,” she said, reaching for him, but he pushed himself off the couch and stepped to the other side of the coffee table, putting it firmly between them. She crossed her arms, frustrated. “Seriously, Bellamy, this is getting old. We’ve talked about this. You’re not hurting me. I consent.”

“That’s not it, Clarke, I ju– I _can’t_ be the person who hurts you, Clarke, I can’t handle it.”

Her heart suddenly felt like it was missing. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t want to hurt you, not even by accident,” he said in a rush, like he’d been sitting on it for a while. Perhaps he had. It sounded like the beginnings of a breakup, so maybe she was his girlfriend after all. She was getting ready to argue with him, to give back as good as he gave, until he uttered, “I’m not sure I can be the man you need me to be.”

It took her by surprise, the wave of emotion that washed over her, but she really should have expected it.

“Oh, Bellamy,” Clarke breathed, and within seconds she was at his side, looping her arms around his neck and holding him to her. His hands were spanning across her waist and he buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing raggedly. She carded her fingers through his hair, “I’m okay, Bellamy, everything’s fine.”

“But it almost wasn’t, and I wasn’t here, and what if–”

“You’re here _now,_ that’s all that matters. For the record, I still think it was stupid of you to go after Cage, but it's even stupider to avoid me just to avoid hurting me. I'm going to get hurt sometimes, Bellamy - but it's always better when you're here by my side,” she pulled back so she could look at him properly, her hands on his cheeks and his fingers around her wrists. His eyes were liquid, oozing a painful vulnerability she’d never seen, and his thumbs were brushing her palms distractedly; he was thinking too hard about the fact that he wasn’t there when she needed him and he was letting the guilt consume him. She sighed, “I understand. I understand why you’re afraid, but pulling away from me doesn’t help. We’ve proven that. If you hurt me, I’ll tell you. If you get scared, you’ll tell me. It’s okay, Bellamy.”

“I know,” he murmured, like he was trying to convince himself. He tugged her closer so he could press his forehead to hers, “I almost lost you.”

“I’m right here, I’m fine,” she said emphatically.

“I just,” he was shaking, the slight tremor of his hands against her wrists as his eyes drowned in hers, “I can’t lose you, Clarke. If Cage gets to you, or…”

“He won’t. He's in jail, and if I have anything to do with it, hes going to stay there.” She said, and it didn’t matter if she believed it or not, because Bellamy had to. He was always the one with hope. He was the one who held them all together. He _had_ to believe her. 

He swallowed, and it looked painful, or maybe that was the taste of the words in his mouth, “it’s not just that, it’s… _What if…_ What if I lose you because of something _I do?_ What if I hurt you, or scare you, or make you feel the way _he_ made you feel, I couldn’t– Clarke, _I can’t_ – it’s–”

“You won’t,” she breathed. 

“You can’t know that.”

“Yes I can,” she murmured, “because I know you, Bellamy Blake. You’re an asshole, and a know-it-all, and a pain my ass, and you’re my best friend, and I promise you that you are nothing like Cage. You’re nothing like anyone, Bellamy. You’re _you._ And you won’t hurt me. Not in any way that matters.”

The tears on his cheeks were soaking her thumbs and his eyes were swimming with them, matching hers. He choked out a breath, chest juddering slightly with the emotions held in it, and all she wanted was to take those pain-soaked breaths away and replace them with happier ones. 

She tilted forward enough to press her lips to his, a tentative dip into cool waters. He didn’t move for a moment, but she stayed where she was, adjusting to the temperature and when he kissed her back, it felt like sinking into the ocean.

His arms wound back around her and she held tightly to him as they sank. They were leaving behind the waves that had been pushing them from all sides for weeks. They were too far below the surface to feel the deluge. The fires were still there, lighting up the sky above them, but right now they were surrounded by cold water, and the lights were warped and far away. 

Bellamy sighed and his muscles relaxed under her fingertips and she knew he was feeling the same sense of calm that she was clinging to.

She had no plans to come up for air anytime soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHHHHH TWO MORE CHAPTERS TO GO!!!
> 
> ARE YOU EXCITED FOR CLARKE TO KICK ASS AT THE TRIAL???
> 
> ARE YOU READY FOR SOME MILD BELLARKE SMUT???
> 
> ARE YOU PREPARED FOR THE _FLUFF?!?!?!?_
> 
> I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH AND I'M SO LUCKY TO HAVE SO MANY PEOPLE APPRECIATING THIS STORY. YOU'RE ALL AMAZING, THANK YOU SO SO SO SO SO MUCH <3 <3 <3


	23. Under Oath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cage goes on trial, Clarke and Bellamy learn what they are to each other (kinda), and everyone has a moment of peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BUCKLE IN FOLKS, IT'S A LONG ONE!!!
> 
> I would like to prefice this with the fact that the only things I know about the American court system are from TV. I know a lot about the legal system, but specifically _court proceedings_ I am flying blind. Also, I am very much aware that court cases go on for days, weeks, and in some cases, months, but for the sake of the narrative, I'm smushing it all into one jam-packed day. 
> 
> So this chapter may require a suspension of disbelief for anyone reading this who possesses a law degree. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you like it!
> 
> ALSO: **SMUT WARNING!**

Walking into court always made Clarke’s heart flutter. 

It wasn’t a positive sensation, but it was never quite negative either. People who are on debate teams in high school, or perform as children are familiar with the feeling – the thrill of adrenalin tempered by the anxiety pushing you to get it right. Those that go on to be celebrities find a way to love the feeling, to heighten it, but the rest just learn to live with the frisson of electricity when they make speeches at weddings or ask a stranger a question. 

As a lawyer, it leaned more towards the negative side on a lot of occasions, but never like this. 

Today she was made of titanium, she was Wanheda, but underneath that fixed exterior, she was scorching; blood pounding hot in her ears and making her fingertips buzz unpleasantly.

* * *

* * *

She’d worked well into the early hours of Friday morning, and with Bellamy’s help, she wasn’t nervous about her opening statements, or even about the evidence. She knew she had him nailed. She was just worried about seeing him again. Bellamy had ended up removing the pen from her hand when she lost focus and scribbled across a page, and the two of them had sat back, promising to return to the work in minutes. Instead, when he reached for her, she practically fell into his arms, and was asleep before she could register her cheek on his chest. They fell asleep that way; on the couch, the two of them tangled up in each other, so tired they hadn’t even bothered changing into pyjamas or moving into one of the bedrooms upstairs.

Bellamy hadn’t left her side since they’d been gently kicked awake by Murphy. He’d grinned down at them, phone in hand, and they knew he was saving those pictures for later, but Clarke couldn’t find it in herself to care. 

The whole warehouse was buzzing with activity all morning, but it wasn’t until Clarke’s mother walked in with a familiar figure in tow that the idea of being in court in two days time finally hit home. 

Thelonius looked tired, but that was to be expected. 

He also looked… at peace?

Or as peaceful as one could feel after one’s child has died. There is a part of a parent that dies with them, a part that never feels rested no matter how much time passes. That was etched into his face and the way he held himself, and it had been since the day Wells died. But he looked better. 

Better than when she’d last seen him.

If she were to bet on it, she’d wager she looked worse.

“Clarke!” He boomed as Abby stepped aside. He stepped forward and clasped her shoulders, holding her out at arms-length so he could take her in. She wasn’t sure if he was just emotional, or if he was keeping his distance so as not to make her uncomfortable, but either way, she appreciated him all the more for it. 

It had been a long time since they’d seen each other, and even longer since they’d stood in the same room at the same time. The weight of their losses came down on them both in that moment – Wells and Jake – and it almost felt like they were in the room with them. Jaha squeezed her shoulders and stepped back, overcome with emotion, and Clarke wasn’t sure she fared much better.

“I’m sorry, Clarke,” Jaha said sincerely, “for everything that’s happened.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said, “I’m sorry we dragged you back here. I’m sorry we dug everything back up again.”

He shook his head, “no, I’m glad. I have closure – I know who shot my son. That’s more than I ever believed I would get. The fact that you brought me back here to testify against him, to watch him go to jail? It’s Christmas, Thanksgiving and New Year, all rolled into one. It’s more than I ever dared to hope for. You’ve done an incredible thing, Miss Griffin. Your father would be proud.”

“Yes he would,” Abby agreed, choked up, “but since he can’t be here to tell you, I’ll have to be proud enough for the both of us.”

Clarke nodded, too overcome with emotion to say anything in response.

* * *

* * *

It was a process, one that lasted a few days. 

They went over witness statements, collated files, organised their business to ensure they were definitely allowed to practice law, and barely got a wink of sleep.

Clarke ended up drifting off in the office wherever she’d been working, propped against the wall or slumped over her desk long past midnight. She would always wake up in a more comfortable position though, probably due to Bellamy gently manoeuvring her in her sleep. He’d all but given up on getting her to sleep in a bad, but he would damned if he was going to let her wake up with a crick in her neck. It was beyond sweet, really, and she returned the gesture by making him coffee in the mornings with the machine she insisted on bringing from her house to the new office. 

They were just barely a functioning law firm with one lawyer and one PI, but they could hire more lawyers later, after this case was through. Right now she had to focus on taking down a case helmed by the most powerful attorney in the country, who just so happened to be her ex-boss. 

They worked through the weekend, with court scheduled for Monday afternoon, and by the time Monday morning rolled around, she was exhausted, but confident. 

She wandered in the kitchen to make a fourth consecutive cup of coffee, and found Thelonius frying up some eggs and bacon. She smiled tiredly at him and got to work making her drink, listening to the sizzle of the pan behind her. When she turned around, mug in hand, he had turned off the hob and was plating up his food. 

Thelonius leant against the counter, “so, Bellamy Blake.”

It was just the two of them in the kitchen, and Clarke raised an eyebrow at him. “Yes?”

His look told her she wasn’t doing a very good job of being sly. “You seem… _close.”_

She almost choked on her coffee, “Uh, well, yeah- it’s, I’m–”

“I’m not going to interfere in your love life, Clarke. He seems to make you happy, and lord knows you deserve some joy in your life. I just want to know if his intentions are as noble as they appear to be,” his fatherly tone was unmistakable, and Clarke almost teared up. She had a feeling this was a conversation that Jake had asked Thelonius to initiate if he wasn’t around to do it. It occurred to her then that Jaha would never get to have the same conversation with his own son. She was all he had left, the closest thing to his own child: his goddaughter. “Is he good to you?”

She felt her lip wobble a little and took a sip to hide it. She swallowed the scalding liquid and managed a shaky nod, “yeah. _Yeah,_ he really is. Bellamy’s… _he’s amazing.”_

“Good,” he deflated, relieved, “because I really didn’t want to have to give him the tough father talk. I’m terrible at those.”

“That’s okay, I’m sure Mom will do it at some point.”

He laughed, “your mother always was the scariest person I knew. If he sticks around after she has a word with him, you _know_ he’s in it for the long haul.”

Clarke snorted. She drained the last of her drink and rinsed the cup out in the sink, but before she was fully out of the kitchen, Thelonius called her back. 

“I just wanted to say,” he rasped, more than a little choked up himself, “thank you for doing this, Clarke. I know this can’t be easy for you. It’s an incredible thing you’re doing, and you’re so brave for doing it. I’m in awe of the strength you possess, Clarke, and I’m sure they would be too, if they were here.”

Clarke coughed as the warmth of tears started building under her cheeks, and she thanked him, quickly ducking into the closest toilet so she could cry without drawing attention to herself.

Twenty minutes later, someone was thumping on the door.

_“What?”_

“It’s the eleventh hour, let’s go!” Murphy’s voice carried through the wood. 

“Fuck off, Murphy,” she quipped, grinning as she flicked the lock open and strode past him back into the main open space on the bottom floor where their friends were all packing up files in boxes. 

Bellamy rushed by with something, but made sure to squeeze her fingers as he passed, and Jasper shot her supportive finger guns.

Murphy caught up quickly and was at her elbow in no time, “c’mon Griffin, we gotta head to the courthouse.”

“We?” She made a face at him.

He grinned. “Yep. You, me, Bellamy, Jaha and Diyoza. Everyone else is catching up later.”

Diyoza cut in, “Jaha isn’t getting called to the stand until late this afternoon, but we need to make sure we’ve got everything else right before that. We’re a new firm and this is our very first case. We’re barely registered as a business, and we’re about to go up against the biggest law firm in the country. We need a running head start.”

“What about Madi?” Clarke asked, turning to look at the door to the room where she knew the sleeping girl lay.

“She’ll be safe here,” Diyoza said. “When she wakes up, they can ask if she wants to come to court, but if she doesn’t, Emori offered to stay and keep an eye on her.”

Clarke turned to her friend, who only shrugged. 

“We can’t have you distracted in court,” Emori teased, “someone had to take care of Madi, or you were gonna go crazy.”

Clarke surprised the other woman by pulling her into a hug. Emori relaxed into it immediately, and Clarke watched Bellamy’s eyes soften as he took in the display of warmth. He looked more than a little relieved; that she was hugging someone without flinching or maybe that she reached for someone else first, and she felt a familiar pang in her chest. She wanted to see that same look on his face when she reached for him.

* * *

* * *

Jurors were picked, evidence was filed, and all they had left to do was actually argue their points. Clarke was pacing nervously behind the barrier, staring up at the empty judges chair and wondering who would be presiding over the case. The idea suddenly struck her that it might be someone in Dante’s employ, and she froze on the spot, mind whirring. She was still standing when the defence arrived; she was far too restless to sit down. 

When Cage was escorted into the courtroom in handcuffs, the spark of fear wasn’t unexpected, but it still caught Clarke under the chin like an uppercut. 

He and his lawyers, Nia and Emerson, took their seats on the table only a few feet away, and Clarke tried to ignore the feeling of panic and focus on the facts. She ran them over and over in her head, avoiding glancing over there even for a second lest she catch Cage’s eye. 

She took a deep, steadying breath and looked to her left. Diyoza was sitting down, pretending to go through their papers while she actually let her eyes wander over the jurors. Thelonius was on her other side – their first client. Bellamy was sitting in the stands, right behind her, with Murphy and Raven. The rest of their friends hadn’t arrived yet, but that was okay. She could feel Bellamy’s presence at her back without even needing to turn around, and she leaned back against the barrier. His hand reached out and brushed against her hip, just once, but it was enough. 

It was grounding, and she took another breath.

She was ready. 

“All rise,” the bailiff called out, and everyone stood. “The court is now in session, the honourable Judge Arbor presiding.”

Clarke was familiar with Judge Arbor; she’d been in her courtroom more than once before. Indra was unwaveringly fair, one of the only judges left uncorrupted by Pike or the Wallaces or the money of senators. They were lucky to have her as a judge. But she was also a terrifying hard-ass, and Clarke felt the pressure of the case begin to build. They _had_ to succeed. 

The judge sat down, gesturing for everyone to follow suit. 

The charges were read out, but Clarke wasn’t listening. It wasn’t until it got to her time to stand up that she even realised time had been passing. 

She stood and addressed the jury, “Good afternoon Your Honour, ladies and gentleman of the jury; today you are here to listen to the facts, and to understand the full scope of the actions committed by Mr Wallace. Six years ago, he shot Wells Jaha in the head, and that was only the beginning. He built up an empire to rival his father’s, and he hurt people to do it. During this hearing, you will hear from witnesses of his various crimes, from former Attorney General Jaha, and from Cage himself, and it is your responsibility to hear these accounts and understand their importance. The prosecution doesn’t often have a client, but you may notice that Thelonius Jaha is sitting with us – he is our client, in as much as the law is. His son died, and for six years he has had no closure. Today, we aim to bring him that closure. As well as the countless other families Mr Wallace has torn apart in the last seven years.”

Her eyes flicked over each and every member of the jury, and she could see some of them already wide-eyed at her words. She let herself take another breath.

The witnesses she called to the stand, including Nyko and Thelonius, were easy to question, and the defence’s cross-examination seemed to do no real damage to the prosecution’s case. 

She dared to imagine they might actually have a shot. 

Then, Indra said, “the defence may call its next witness.”

“We call Mr Bellamy Blake to the stand.” Nia said, and the note of triumph in her voice was amplified by the smug expression Clarke knew Cage was wearing as Bellamy trudged up to the witness box. 

He sat down and crossed his arms defiantly, chin raised in the cocky display he was so adept at, and Clarke had never been more relieved that he could hold his ground in an argument. He was going to need those skills today. 

Nia stalked towards him, “Mr Blake, I understand that you are the boyfriend of the prosecutor.”

His smirk was subtle, barely there, and if Clarke didn’t know him so well, she wouldn’t have even caught it. 

_“No._ ”

Nia faltered. 

“You are not dating Clarke Griffin?” She asked tightly, anger masking the confusion. 

“No I am not,” he said, and Clarke promised herself that he would be her boyfriend the second this trial was over, but right now, she was thanking every god she could think of that they hadn’t had the relationship talk yet. 

Nia regained her bearings, “but you are close with Miss Griffin, yes?”

“Yes.” 

“You care deeply about her?”

“Yes.” 

Bellamy’s eyes flicked over Nia’s shoulder, and Clarke met his gaze with all the strength she could muster. Stay strong, she tried to communicate, you’ve got her on the ropes. Just don’t let her bait you. He seemed to get the message, staring back at the lawyer in front of him.

“You did not want her dating Cage Wallace?”

He frowned, “I don’t believe that is a fair–”

“Answer the question Mr Blake.”

“No, I didn’t.” He said, and a muscle in his jaw popped. Clarke knew what that meant, she’d seen it happen so many times while they were arguing; he was emotional and trying to hide it. 

“Because you were in love with her?”

“No.”

Nia looked genuinely surprised at that, “may I remind you that you are _under oath,_ Mr Blake. Are you trying to tell me that you do _not_ love Miss Griffin?”

“Not at all,” Bellamy leaned back a little, confidence oozing through his pores, “I’m definitely in love with Clarke, that just has absolutely _nothing_ to do with why I didn’t want her dating Cage Wallace.”

Clarke noticed some of the jurors sigh a little at the statement, and she had to admit, even she was trying not to get moony-eyed at the assurance with which he said the words. Nia’s strategy was backfiring. 

Until–

“Is that why you chose to stalk him, and eventually beat him within an inch of his life?”

Bellamy’s face fell into a cold mask, but he wasn’t going to let Nia manipulate him that easily, “Is _what_ why?”

Nia sidestepped the question. “He had to go to hospital for the injuries you gave him, Mr Blake. The fact that you didn’t want Clarke to date Mr Wallace made you angry, didn’t it Mr Blake? It made you jealous, which is why you hunted him down and beat him. You couldn’t take the idea of anyone but you dating Miss Griffin, and you snapped.”

“Objection; speculation!” Clarke said angrily, _“and_ it’s a leading question, _and_ it’s argumentative.”

Indra held up a hand before Clarke could continue down the list of all the things wrong with the questioning and glared down at Nia, “Miss Griffin is right; sustained. I suggest you temper that streak, Ms Kingsley.”

Nia exhaled angrily through her nose and nodded sharply. 

“Mr Blake, did you or did you not attack Mr Wallace?”

Bellamy gritted his teeth. “Yes.”

“No more questions, your honour,” Nia stepped back from the stand. 

Clarke tried to conceal her grin as she moved forward; Bellamy was tense, but she knew it was more on her behalf than his, and he saw the twinkle in her cheeks and his confidence returned. She felt Cage’s presence to her right but she ignored the unpleasant burning wherever his eyes touched. 

She raised an eyebrow, “why did you attack Mr Wallace?”

“Because he was in your apartment.”

People in the gallery audibly gasped behind her, but she didn’t even turn her head. 

“Did you have a reason to attack him simply for being in my apartment?” 

“He _hurt you._ He hurt you in your office,” Bellamy’s voice was strained, “and then he disappeared. When I arrived at yours, he was in there, and I…”

“You attacked him because he attacked me?” Clarke couldn’t go easy on him, she _had_ to make him clarify his statements, or he could be the one on trial next time.

“No, I attacked him because he was standing in your apartment in the dark and he _threatened to do it again.”_

“Then he was attacking someone trespassing on my property, and under Stand Your Ground laws, he was well within his rights to do so.” Clarke addressed the statement to both Indra and the defence. 

“I didn’t break in, I had a _key,_ ” Cage snapped from behind her.

She whipped her head around to look at him and finally saw the damage Bellamy had done; his face was black and blue, and one of his arms was in a sling, although she wasn’t sure how much of that was necessary and how much was playing up for the jury. “I never gave you a key,” she said, as calmly as she could manage, “nor did I invite you to my apartment after you _tried to strangle me.”_

Nia and Emerson both stopped him from retorting, but he sat back in his chair with a sour expression, fury rolling off him like wildfire.

She turned, and Bellamy’s eyes were crinkled the way they always did when he was worrying, zeroed in on her neck. “I’m fine, Bellamy.”

He pressed his lips together in an effort not to say anything, and looked away. 

“Did you,” Clarke glanced at Indra, knowing the judge wasn’t going to be happy with the question, and tried to rephrase it, “did you mean everything you said under oath today?”

His cheek twitched. 

“Yes.”

There were whoops in the gallery – their friends must have arrived during the proceedings – and Clarke flushed pink. She knew it was self-indulgent, to ask him if he really loved her while he was obligated to tell the truth, but they hadn’t had a chance to really talk about those words yet. Those torturous, wonderful words. She wanted nothing more than to lean forward and plant her lips on his, but she schooled the impulse and took a big step back. “No further questions.”

He kept his head down as he left the stand, but she knew he was smiling. 

“The defence may call their next witness,” Indra said dryly, “but I suggest you are certain of the line of questioning you choose this time, Ms Kingsley.”

Clarke disguised her snort of amusement as a cough, and Diyoza elbowed her, but she could see the smirk on her lips as well. It was amazing. 

They were winning. 

“Cage Wallace,” Nia called out. 

Cage swaggered his way over to the witness box, leaning forward on his forearms as Nia questioned him. He was attempting to claim he hadn’t been anywhere near the area when Wells was shot, and that he wasn’t running any kind of crime ring. Clarke held it together through all of that, until he started saying that he’d never hurt her. That he’d never even laid a hand on her. She lifted her fingers to the fading bruises on her neck – still purple, dark enough to be the shadow of her chin from the light above them – and realised that his testimony was affecting her. 

It was starting to make her _angry._

It was one thing to do a horrible thing, it was entirely another to then brazenly lie about it, in front of the person it was done to.

“No further questions,” Nia said with a leering smile, and then it was Clarke’s turn. 

She felt Diyoza squeeze her knee under the table, and she stood and walked right up to the stand, determined to show no fear. Clarke gestured for one of their pieces of evidence to be brought in, the recording of him from her office. The recording began to play, and she was immediately on edge. 

_“What do you want me to say, Clarke? That my father ordered the hit? That he knew your friend was going to die before it happened? “I can’t do that.”_ The room was deadly silent as they listened to the sounds of Cage moving closer. _“I can’t do that, Clarke, because my father didn’t have any idea what was going to happen to Wells Jaha. I ordered the hit. I took the shot myself.”_

The crowd in the gallery gasped, making noises of dissent and surprise, until Indra banged her gavel for silence so the tapes could be heard better. It wasn’t until the recordings reached the point where Cage had her pinned against the wall, struggling to breathe, that she paused the tape. She looked up at him, at the man who had caused her so much pain for so long, and she wanted to watch him burn alive in his own flames. 

She tilted her head. “Mr Wallace, when you strangled me in my office, was that the first attempt you made to hurt me during the course of our relationship?”

Cage glared. 

“Mr Wallace?” 

He remained silent. 

Indra leaned down over him, “do I have to remind you that you are under oath, Mr Wallace? Answer the question.”

“No.” He finally admitted, “it wasn’t the first time.”

“And why did you injure me the first time?”

She could almost see the fires of rage across his body now, but she stared him down, refusing to back off. 

“Are you sure you want me to damage your reputation to the court, Clarke?” Cage asked, an ugly twist of his lips assuring her that he thought he had the upper hand. “Are you sure you want me to tell the court about you sleeping with Mr Blake, or Lexa Regens while you were supposed to be dating me?”

“What the fuck!?” Murphy’s voice yelled out from the gallery, “how the fuck is that relevant to _anything,_ Wallace?!”

“Be quiet Mr Murphy,” Indra commanded.

“It wouldn’t interest the court to know what kind of person is representing the prosecution?” Cage asked him, smug as the day he was born. 

“I don’t know, would it interest the court to see _my fist hit your face?”_ Murphy clapped back, and Clarke noticed a few jurors concealing their chortles behind their palms. 

“If Miss Griffin is of low moral standing, how could this court possibly believe a single word–”

There was a scuffle behind her, and Clarke turned just in time to see Bellamy catch Murphy’s arm as he tried to jump over the bannister and hit Cage.

“–let me go, Bellamy, let me hit him,” Murphy tried to pull his arm back, but Bellamy just grabbed the other one as well, holding him. 

“Murphy, you’ll get yourself thrown in contempt,” Clarke pointed out. 

“I don’t care, I really don’t,” Murphy snarled, “he assaulted you and now he’s trying to justify it. I’m gonna kill him.”

“Mr Murphy, if you cannot be quiet, I’m going to have to ask you to leave my courtroom,” Indra said patiently. 

“Do you have any idea what he did to her?!” Murphy was yelling at the judge now, and Clarke’s heart clenched. “Do you have any idea just how bad it was? How close she came to- and now he’s sitting there like he owns the place, lording it over Clarke’s head!”

“Murphy’s right,” Bellamy flexed his hand around the man’s arm, but he still didn’t let go, clearly torn between his heart and his head.

“Mr Blake, not you too,” Indra snapped, “the both of you, behave, or I will have you removed.”

“He’s using his time on the stand to taunt you,” Bellamy realised, locking eyes with Clarke. 

“I know,” she whispered, “now the both of you, _sit down.”_

Murphy wrenched his arm from Bellamy’s grip, but he didn’t try and leap over the barrier again, simply slumping back into his seat sullenly. Bellamy was slower, more deliberate in his movements, and Clarke could see the restraint in the way his hand shook as he took his place next to Murphy. 

She turned back to Cage, “what were you insinuating, Wallace?”

“You were sleeping around, flirting with people in front of me, flaunting your conquests, and I may have overreacted, but it was a just and righteous anger.”

“I was sleeping with Lexa before I met you,” she reminded him, “and I have never once slept with Bellamy.”

“Wanna say that under oath?” He challenged her.

She bit her tongue to stop from arguing back. Her statement was true, if a little misleading – she had been sleeping with Lexa while she was dating Cage, and she didn’t deny that, she just made it sound like she was. 

“I would, if I were the one on trial,” she barked, “but even if I was doing what you accuse me of, does that justify your assault?”

Cage opened his mouth, thought better of it, and closed it. 

“No, I didn’t think so,” she growled. “No further questions, Your Honour.”

Indra’s gaze was cold hard steel on Cage’s back as he removed himself from the stand, but it softened slightly when she glanced at Clarke. Not much, not even enough to believe she was leaning towards their arguments, but enough to remind Clarke that the terrifying woman was human – that she was one of a few high-ranking court officials who still had a soul.

* * *

* * *

Court broke for short recess, and Clarke turned to Diyoza. 

“We’re doing okay,” she let her face fall into her hands in relief. 

Diyoza elbowed her again, “we’re doing more than okay, Griffin. This is amazing. If the jury votes for anything except guilty, it’s proof positive that they’ve been tampered with. We have evidence, eyewitness testimonies, plus his admittance of assaulting you more than once. And we did it all without bringing up the horrible circumstances of the first assault.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that,” Bellamy said, and the two women turned to face him, “you sat on that tape for a long time. Why?”

Diyoza tapped her fingers on the desk while she considered the question. 

“I didn’t want to bring Clarke into something if it wasn’t going to work. I didn’t want to bring all of that up for her again,” she admitted, “then Bellamy was admitted to hospital, and I got everything together, even put it in the box ready to send it to you, but… you looked awful. You were clearly struggling with it, and I didn’t want to add to that. Then, one afternoon in court, I saw you. I was sitting at the back, you wouldn’t have even glimpsed me, but I watched the way you looked at Madi in between cross-examinations and witness statements. You looked so sad, so guilty, like you blamed yourself for everything that had happened to her. Pregnancy must be making me a sap, because it touched something in me. I knew that no matter what, you and Madi deserved better than to have your lives ruined by the Wallaces.”

“Is that why you brought Madi, the first time you met with me at your café?”

“It’s her café,” Diyoza said simply. At their surprised looks, she shrugged, “her parents owned it, and when they died it became hers, and when I told her I was going after Cage, and that I would try to protect her as best I could, she suggested it. She wanted to help you just as much as I did, and she didn’t even know the full story of what happened to you, Clarke. She just knew you were a good person.”

“Now I know you’re not,” Madi appeared at Bellamy’s side, Emori in tow, “because you’re the _best_ person.”

Clarke almost got choked up, and Bellamy was glancing between the two of them warmly, but Murphy was miming vomiting beside them. 

“That’s so cheesy,” Murphy groaned.

“I’m a kid, shut up,” Madi snarked back, high-fiving Emori. 

Clarke laughed, “she’s got you there, dick.”

“Joke’s on her, I’ve never been an adult in my life,” he held up both hands and Jasper and Monty each smacked one. 

_“Mood,”_ they confirmed, grinning, and Clarke couldn't help but love them for it.

Bellamy shifted nearer to her over the barrier, practically sitting on it in his effort to get as close to her as possible. His fingers tangled with hers and he asked, “You doing okay?”

Before she could answer, Thelonius and Abby returned from their lunch collection, sporting big bags of food, and Jaha laid them all out on the desk, “anyone hungry?”

While everyone tucked into their food, she felt her friends’ eyes on her, all of their own accord, making sure she was okay. They needn’t have worried; this was the courtroom – Cage was fighting on her turf now. 

When Indra returned and called them to order, Clarke was ready, no matter what happened. 

Nia stood and called her final witness.

“We call Dante Wallace to the stand,” Nia said, and a hush descended over the courtroom. Even Indra managed to look a little uneasy, although it didn’t last more than a second. 

Dante sat down in the box, staring defiantly out over the crowd.

Nia postured proudly, clearly excited that Dante Wallace was her star witness – the man who could make or break anyone’s career. The man who ran Polis like the Godfather. The man with more power than every senator combined. The man with the President in his pocket. 

“Have you ever ordered a hit on anyone, Mr Wallace,” she asked, simpering. It wasn’t a good look on her. 

“No.” He said coolly. 

“I mean, technically, of course not,” Diyoza whispered bitterly, “he’d never do it himself.”

Nia clasped her hands together. “Have you ever killed anyone yourself?”

He frowned, thinking on it. “Yes. I killed people in combat.”

“But not since you’ve been back on home soil?”

“No.”

“And Mr Wallace, how many children do you have?”

“One son, Cage Wallace, the man on trial,” he said. 

“You raised this man,” Nia gestured behind herself, “you taught him everything he knows. You paved the way for a career in politics, and you helped him whenever he asked.”

“Correct,” Dante said, although it wasn’t a question. 

“You taught him to fight?”

“I paid for his self-defence lessons, yes.”

“You taught him how to shoot?”

A pause. “Yes.”

“Did you ever have any doubts that you were doing the right thing?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Do you believe your son capable of the appalling acts Miss Griffin has accused him of?”

There was a long, drawn out pause. 

All the air seemed to suck out of the room.

Everyone knew what he was going to say. 

And then he said the last thing anyone expected:

_“Yes.”_

The courtroom erupted.

* * *

* * *

The jurors were gone barely ten minutes, and when they returned, it was unanimous.

On the organized crime charges: _guilty._

On the charges of aggravated assault: _guilty._

On the charges of first-degree murder: _guilty._

 

_Cage Wallace was going away for a very long time._

Indra banged her gavel and closed court, and Clarke could have cried in that moment. Indra caught her eye as she exited, and she could have sworn she saw the woman smile. No-one would ever believe her though – most people agreed that Judge Arbor had never smiled in her life.

Everyone in the gallery was on their feet, and when Clarke turned around to see them, her friends were hugging each other, crying and cheering and beaming wider than she’d seen in a while. She was swept up in it, in the madness of winning the case, in the insanity of Dante rolling on his own son, in the utter chaos of her pocket universe. 

Bellamy reached across the divide and held her hand, and for a moment, there was nothing but the two of them, until Murphy cut in. 

“I think this is worthy of a celebration, don’t you?” He grinned.

Jasper bounced over. “Party at the new office sounds like a good way to break it in, doesn’t it?”

Clarke laughed.

“Come on Clarke, please?” Monty joined them, fidgeting a little in his excitement. 

“Fine,” she conceded, and another cheer went up among the crowd, this one isolated to her friends and family. 

Abby and Thelonius came over and he held her arm warmly, “thank you, Clarke.” 

“Just doing my job,” Clarke said, “but, I will admit, that felt a bit better than usual.”

Abby nodded, still remaining at a distance, and Clarke smiled at her, eliciting a small one back. She and Abby needed to talk, to clear the air, but not right now. Not when they were celebrating. 

Jaha clapped Bellamy on the back, “and you, son. Take care of each other.”

“When will you be back in town?” Clarke asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” he sighed, “but maybe one day, when it doesn’t hurt to think about it, I’ll be back for Christmas.”

And then he was gone.

* * *

* * *

Everyone had piled back into their own cars, heading towards the building they’d finalised the paperwork on that morning. People were pairing up or piling into Raven’s car, and Murphy had been dragged away from Bellamy’s by force to stop him getting in. 

Clarke mock saluted Raven for the aggressive distraction tactic, and Raven winked back, releasing his collar and opening the passenger door for him. Clarke was pretty sure she heard him grumble, “Christ, Raven, since when do you wanna spend more time with me?”

“Since Clarke and Bellamy need time alone, get in the goddamn car,” Raven hissed back, and Clarke tried not to giggle at the overheard argument as she closed the passenger door, shutting the outside world away completely. Their friends pulled out of the carpark one by one, and they were the last to leave. 

They drove, unspeaking, for a moment, and Bellamy clenched his fingers anxiously around the steering wheel. Clarke wasn’t sure what to say, or how to say it. She wanted to say and do so many things, and she wasn’t sure the fifteen minute car journey was going to be enough. Bellamy was hyper-focussed on the road, and neither one of them reached for the radio to turn it on, so they remained in cautiously optimistic silence until Clarke finally caved and said what she’d been thinking since they left the courtroom.

“Do you think they’ll notice if we don’t show up to our own party?” Clarke asked, and just like that, the tension snapped, and Bellamy grinned over at her. 

“Only one way to find out,” he said, and then he turned left instead of right at the junction, and they started moving along the familiar roads to his place. He put a hand on her knee and she curled her fingers around it, and the look on his face was enough to make the entire stressful day worthwhile. 

When they arrived at his place, he fumbled the keys nervously at the door, and she smiled and smiled and smiled, unable to stop. 

“Stop laughing at me,” he grumbled playfully. 

“I would never,” she pretended to be affronted, just as he got the door open and the two of them practically fell inside. 

She leaned against it as it closed, and then it was just the two of them, standing so close to each other in the small space. He stepped yet closer, his nose practically brushing hers. “You sure about this, Princess?”

“Yeah,” she lifted her hands to his curls so she could tug him down to meet her lips, “I’m sure.”

And when he kissed her it was gentle and slow, but with the promise of something more, and his hands were trailing up and down her sides in endless patterns. His fingertips slipped under her shirt, electrifying the skin wherever he touched it. It was warm, but it wasn’t hot, it wasn’t burning her the way she was afraid of. Because this was Bellamy. She was safe. 

Then he was kissing her in earnest, lips moving desperately and his tongue meeting no resistance when he flicked it, meeting hers. They both sighed at the contact, and she felt excitement buzzing all the way down to her fingertips. Bellamy wrapped his arms around her more tightly and she gripped at his hair when he pulled her bottom lip into his mouth. 

There was a moment, when he crowded her against the wall, where she was back in that alley and the panic was flaring up, and he immediately laced his fingers with hers. His lips were wandering down her neck, trying to give her some space so she didn’t feel trapped by his larger body, and she tried to relax but it wasn’t working. When he asked if she wanted to stop, she shook her head and begged him not to. He pulled back to stare into her apprehensive eyes, and then he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her lips and dropped to his knees in front of her. 

She stared down at him, heart thrumming, “what are you doing?”

“Making it better,” he murmured, and kissed her hip chastely as he pulled her pants to the floor, leaving her in only her black underwear. 

“Against your front door?” She asked, amused. 

“If you want to move–”

Instead of answering, she grabbed the waistband of her panties and yanked them down, stepping out of them completely. 

“Jesus _Christ,_ Clarke,” he moaned, pressing his forehead against her thigh in an effort to steady himself, “give a guy a little warning.”

 _“Sorry,”_ she said, but it didn’t sound like an apology – it was a challenge. 

He brushed his lips across the inside of her thigh, lifting it over his shoulder to give himself more leverage, and she tensed up again, this time from anticipation, as he stared at her. His eyes were wide, gaze flicking between the place she wanted him and her eyes; checking in. She twisted her fingers through his hair and waited, nerves building, for him to make a move. 

When he finally moved forward with a swipe of his tongue, she could have died on the spot. The only reason she didn’t fall over was his hand on the back of her knee and the other at her hip, keeping her upright. 

It would have been embarrassing, how quickly she reached the edge, if Bellamy wasn’t solely and completely focussed on getting her there. When he felt the way she arched her back towards him and the tightening of her grip on his curls, he only doubled his efforts, and it wasn’t long before she tripped over into it. Her legs shook as the pleasure crashed through her, but he kept her there all the way through it, only pulling back when she tugged him up to kiss him. 

She could taste herself on his tongue and he was crowding her against the door again but she didn’t care because her whole body was humming and his hands were roaming over her back. 

“Good?” He asked against her lips, and she tackled him. 

They ended up on the floor of his hallway, her hair dangling in his face as she straddled him, wide grins plastered on both their faces.

“Good?” She griped, “that took you less that two minutes, and you have the audacity to ask if it’s just _good?”_

He flushed, but she was already pressing hot, messy kisses down his neck, and he dropped his head back, hitting it against the hard floor. He winced and she stopped immediately, “you okay?”

“The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen is currently on top of me telling me I’m good at sex,” he said to the ceiling, “I could break an arm right now and I wouldn’t care.”

It was Clarke’s turn to blush, and she hid her face in his chest, “shut up.”

“Seriously, Clarke,” he murmured, sliding a hand between her shoulder blades. “A bump on the head isn’t going to ruin my day. Not when you’re here, you’re safe, you’re happy. You… you _are happy,_ right?”

She sat up and he went with her, the two of them completely tangled up in each other, their foreheads pressed together and their breaths mingling between them. She closed her eyes and just let herself live in that moment, absorbing it until it was under her skin, putting out every fire Cage had left behind. She took a deep breath, and for the first time in a long time, she felt the oxygen reach the bottom of her lungs. 

“Yes,” she said softly, “I’m happy.”

It was like every bit of tension slipped from his frame, and his expression cleared. He looked up at her with hopeful eyes and she stared right back; grounding earth into evening sky, _“Yeah?”_

She giggled, “yeah. I _promise,_ Bellamy. _You make me happy.”_

She leaned in to kiss him, and this time there was something more to it, something charged, and her hands started running over every inch of skin she could find. He shifted, and she was about to ask why when he lifted her to her feet. She swayed, more than a little dazed, and he waited for her to ground herself, but she was impatient, catching his hand and leading him into his room. 

She grabbed the hem of his shirt and dragged it up, and he laughed in surprise at her eagerness. She’d barely got the material over his head before it was tossed on the floor, forgotten, and she moved on to his belt, making quick work of it. He was still laughing when she reached into his boxers and wrapped her fingers around him, and his chuckles dissolved into a moan. She moved her hand up and down experimentally, and he clutched at her sides, unable to do anything but watch as she grabbed his pants and briefs and pushed them down. 

He was already hard, had been since before he went down on her, and she reached out again, swiping her thumb over the tip, making his hips involuntarily jerk towards her.

 _“Clarke,”_ he managed, voice suddenly hoarse.

 _“Bellamy,”_ she teased, and he surged forward to kiss the smirk off her lips, tugging off her shirt and deftly removing her bra as they stumbled towards the bed. 

Somehow, she ended up pressed into the mattress with Bellamy above her, propping his weight up on his elbows, his erection pressed up against her thigh. His gaze was raking over her, taking in every inch of exposed skin, and she was shamelessly doing the same to him. He ducked his head to gently kiss along the thin piece of gauze over her collarbone and something in her snapped. She needed him, _now._

She yanked him closer until he was almost entirely on top of her and her body sung praises at the steady weight of him against it. His hands were everywhere, but she noticed; carefully avoiding her left breast, and it only made her want him more. She snatched at his hand, dragging it to the soft flesh, and when the hot skin of his palm met the underside of her breast she wanted more. Then, his mouth joined his hands and his tongue made her heart skip a beat as he sucked her nipple into his mouth, banishing any negative memories she had to the furthest recesses of her mind. There was only this and the way it drew a direct line from her sternum to her core, making her warm in a way that was no longer frightening or unpleasant. She couldn’t help the pleased whimper that fell from her throat. Something about the sound made Bellamy’s heart speed up – she could feel it under her fingers – and she wanted nothing more than to keep doing this all night. 

He rolled away to grab a condom and she was so caught up in everything that the seconds he was gone felt like an eternity and no time at all. When he returned, she kissed him hungrily, cupping his face in her hands.

She was aching for him, practically vibrating with it, so of course that was when he decided to slow down. He nuzzled at her cheek with his nose and dropped little kisses along her jaw. His thumbs stroked across her ribs soothingly, and he seemed satisfied to ignore his obvious need in favour of making sure she was comfortable. 

“Is this okay?” Bellamy asked as he licked below her ear, trailing downwards.

“Yeah,” she whispered, “I want it, Bellamy – I want _you.”_

He smiled into her neck and when he made the first shallow push inside her, Clarke closed her eyes, hands splaying across his back in an effort to touch as much of him as possible. 

He was patient, careful to let her adjust as he gradually filled her up, and when he was finally exactly where she needed him to be, she felt stars pressing against her eyelids. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to cry or laugh, so she kissed Bellamy instead, tilting her hips so he knew it was okay to move. He started off unhurried, deliberate in his rhythm, until she turned her head to whisper pleas of longing in his ear, and then they were truly moving together, completely unstoppable. 

Nothing existed except his fingertips on her waist, his curls around her knuckles, his lips on her chest. Nothing mattered except the measured thrust of his hips and the way she matched it with the circling of hers. 

She knew the moment he started to lose himself, because his breathing became laboured and his lips found a place to rest and didn’t move, mumuring sweet nothings into her skin. She was almost there too – climbing higher and higher – and when he reached between them to rub her clit, she was completely gone. She was tumbling through the air, floating and spinning and collapsing. When he followed, arms tightening around her as he groaned around the last words he managed to utter, staccato breaths fanning across the crook of her neck, she held him fiercely. She refused to let go, even when he tried to pull himself off her. 

“No, don’t,” she pleaded, “not yet, just… stay here for a minute?”

He smiled, simply saying, “okay,” and propped himself up on his elbows again, looking down at her with an expression so loving it took her breath away. 

“Hi,” she smiled.

“Hey,” he murmured. 

“So that was incredible,” she admitted. 

"Yeah." He agreed, clearly still not quite back on Earth. 

"Seriously," she insisted. But, because she couldn’t resist; “top ten, at least.”

“Top ten?” He bent his head to nibble teasingly at her earlobe, “I guess I’ll have to do better next time.”

“Mmhm,” she sighed, too content to come up with anything else. 

At some point, of course, they had to move. He didn’t go far, just finding something to clean them up, and then he was right back in bed beside her, tugging her into his arms. Their lips were touching, but they weren’t quite kissing; just enjoying each other’s space. He moved to press his lips to her temple and she snuggled closer into him.

She was drifting in and out of consciousness, and she knew he was doing the same, but she couldn’t resist one last dig.

“For future reference, my safe word is, _‘I’m fine'_ ,” Clarke said, and Bellamy threw his head back and laughed, suddenly and loudly, the noise rumbling through his chest and into hers. 

“Noted,” he mumbled, dropping another kiss to her head, and she rolled over so he was spooning her. She draped her arm over his and he made an affectionate noise in his throat, kissing her shoulder.

It wasn’t until she was sinking into her dreams that she realised she hadn’t felt the burning hot fires of panic or shame under her skin since Bellamy sat on his knees in front of her. 

Curled up with him in bed, she truly felt like maybe she was on her way to being okay. That maybe normalcy wasn’t something far away on the horizon, but something attainable, something right within her grasp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
> 
> I HOPE YOU LIKED IT!
> 
> ONE MORE CHAPTER TO GO!!!  
> (and then the sequel, whoops, turns out I have no self-restraint)
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING IT! I LOVE YOUR COMMENTS AND KUDOS SO MUCH, I TRULY APPRECIATE EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU. YOU ANGELS <3 <3 <3


	24. Quiet Nothings and Important Somethings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke gets some time with her mans! (it's long overdue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHH IT'S THE LAST ONE!!!
> 
> I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!!
> 
> THERE'S LOTS OF SOFT BELLARKE, SO I HOPE THAT IS ENOUGH TO BELAY THE 23 CHAPTERS OF ANGST BEFOREHAND.

The first thing Clarke realised when she woke up was that she was warm, but not in the way she had been for the last few months. She wasn’t burning up, at risk of catching fire, but pleasantly cozy. 

It took her a minute longer to realise that the warmth was emanating from the man beside her. 

She looked over her shoulder at Bellamy’s sleeping form. They’d stretched out a little in their sleep and he was now lying on his front, but his arm was still touching her back as if letting her go too far was an impossibility, even in sleep. She smiled to herself as she took in his face, so peaceful without the worries of the day resting on it, and she wanted nothing more than to let him continue his unburdened dreaming.

So, naturally, that was when her phone rang. 

_“Little Miss Apprehensive, I said, ooh, she fell in love… WHAT IS THIS FEELING TAKING OVER?! THINKING NO-ONE COULD OPEN THE DOOR?! SURPRISE! IT’S TIME-"_

Bellamy started stirring just as she got her hand on her traitor of a phone and answered it, “Murphy, I swear to god this better be important or I’m going to murder you.” 

There was a small cackle and then, away from the microphone, “it’s okay everyone, she’s alive!”

Clarke flopped back onto the mattress and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Did you personalise your own ringtone?”

“Obviously,” his grin was audible down the phone. “And I’m sorry, calling you wasn’t my idea, but I figured you’d rather I did it than your mother or Octavia.”

“What?” Well, if she wasn’t wide awake before, she certainly was now. 

“It’s 6pm,” he pointed out, “and you and Bellamy have both been off the radar since yesterday night. We were concerned.”

Clarke was about to retort when she felt Bellamy’s arm curl over her stomach. She barely had a chance to register it before he was tugging her closer, nuzzling into her neck. She pressed her cheek into his mess of bedhead and he snuffled contentedly, which made her heart sing so loudly she almost didn’t catch what Murphy said next. 

“Jokes aside, Clarke, we really were worried about you – neither of you showed up last night, so obviously I assumed you were getting banged so hard you saw the nth dimension – _ow, Octavia, no, fuck off_ – but everyone else was concerned. Then, when you didn’t show up today, it was a little odd, but even I started worrying after five o’clock. _Some people, _” he said, and Clarke had a feeling he was glaring at someone, “were convinced you’d been attacked or kidnapped by Cage, but I told them to hold off and leave you alone. When Octavia started threatening to go to Bellamy’s apartment to check on you, I figured we should probably, I don’t know, _call first?”___

“This phone call isn’t for me, is it? It’s to rub in Octavia’s face that she was wrong for worrying,” she posited, and Murphy started lazily protesting, just as Bellamy released her to clamber out of bed. He dragged on some boxers and stumbled towards the hall and she put a hand over the receiver to call after him. “Hey, where are you going?”

His answering grin was enough to make her heart hum again.

“I’m gonna make us breakfast,” he glanced at the clock, “uh, dinner. I’m gonna make a romantic dinner, and I’m gonna lock the door so our friends can’t get in.”

“That, my friend, is the best idea you’ve had in a long time,” she praised. He hovered in the doorway for a moment, just leaning against the frame, smiling at her, and it wasn’t long before she felt her cheeks turning pink. She waved him away, “I’ll come help in a minute, I’ve just gotta put Murphy out of his misery and tell him we’ve been banging all night.”

Bellamy’s answering laugh echoed in the hallway as he disappeared towards the kitchen, and Clarke sank further into the sheets, putting the phone back to her ear. 

“You know I heard everything you just said, right?” Murphy said. 

“Yep.”

He affected a dreamy, girlish tone, “so is this it? Has my ship finally sailed?” 

“Have I mentioned yet today that I hate you?”

“No, but you have threatened me with murder.”

“True.” She nodded to thin air. _“I hate you.”_

“I know. More importantly, did you and Bellamy go on a one-way trip to pound-town?” He asked, and then there was the muffled sounds of multiple things hitting him, and his yelps of surprise. There was a scuffle, and then Octavia’s voice was the one on the other end. 

“Hey Clarke, I just wanted to make sure you and Bellamy are both okay and not dead in a ditch somewhere. I have no interest in whether or not you and my brother spent the entire night boning, so if you could just say that you were fine or that you feared for your life all night – _don’t you dare Murphy, I don’t care what innuendo it is; keep it to yourself or I’m throwing the other shoe_ – then that would be great.”

Clarke hid her amusement, along with a yawn, behind her hand and sat up, searching for some clothes. She raked her fingers through her hair and stretched slightly before she found one of Bellamy's old shirts and stepped into some underwear. 

“We’re fine, O. To be honest, we’ve just been sleeping,” she said, pulling on the shirt and moving towards the kitchen, “something about months of sleepless nights followed by nearly getting murdered and then going to court against the man who did it makes a girl tired.”

“But, seriously though, are you and my brother _together_ now?” Octavia asked, “like, really, _actually_ together? Like a _couple?”_

“Sound _more_ invested, O, I dare you,” Raven’s voice could be heard in the background, and Clarke nearly snorted.

She walked into the kitchen to the smell of fresh tomatoes and garlic and the low melodic humming of the man she loved. He was slicing mushrooms, reaching an arm out every few seconds to stir the saucepan full of bubbling red liquid to his left, and he’d hooked his phone up to his small speaker so he could quietly sing along to it. 

She hopped up onto the section of counter he wasn’t using and tapped her heels against the drawers. When he grabbed a mug from the side and passed it to her - hot chocolate - it was unexpected, and yet completely and totally natural, like she’d been waiting for it all along. She held the mug in one hand and smiled down at him as he pressed a quick peck to her lips before darting away to stir the sauce. He glanced back over, a relief in his features she hadn’t seen in a long while and that lopsided grin on his face, the one he reserved for her. 

She sipped her hot chocolate and felt the happiness spread through her like the hot liquid down her throat; rich and sweet and coating everything with joy.

“Yeah,” she said assuredly down the phone, “yeah, we’re together.”

* * *

* * *

The next week moved along relatively fast. While the last few months had felt like walking through quicksand, now she was free – free of Cage, free of her old job, free of the threats hanging over her head. She was starting a business with her boyfriend and the woman who helped her take down an evil, vile excuse for a human being. She was right where she wanted to be. 

Except that she still hadn’t told Bellamy she loved him. 

She couldn’t seem to spit it out. 

He had no trouble saying it to her, even worked out that saying it against her lips with a hand up her shirt was the best way to get her to melt in his arms, but she just couldn’t say it back.

The best – and worst – part, was that Bellamy didn’t even seem bothered. He hadn't even mentioned it. He knew that she needed time, repeatedly told her that he would give her as much of it as she needed to feel comfortable with doing _anything,_ but she still felt like she was letting him down somehow. She knew he would never see it that way, and that he’d be upset if he even knew she was thinking it, but still the feeling persisted. 

But she was busy, so she tried to focus on that instead. 

She had officially quit her job, and Octavia helped her move all her stuff into the new building, taking over the office on the second floor that overlooked the first. Bellamy took the one next to hers, so they shared the balcony that faced the front door, while Diyoza commandeered an office at the back. She preferred to work from the background, and while Clarke understood the impulse, she preferred to be able to see all the exits. 

Bellamy was taking lessons, learning how to be a PI, because Diyoza had seen “potential” in him, and Raven was already well on her way to being a functioning investigator, so she frequently sat in on their talks. Murphy had jumped on the bandwagon and tried to drag Emori into the fold as well, but she admitted she preferred the political side of things, and Diyoza suggested that she be their rendezvous between them and Abby. 

Abby herself was now heading a taskforce aiming to eradicate collusion and conspiracy from Polis politics, and she was a fierce thing to behold in action. It was really no wonder Emori found Abby’s sheer power as she crushed corrupt men and women underfoot more interesting than sitting in an office going through files. Emori hadn’t had that kind of agency when she was younger, and now that she was being given the opportunity to take it, she was ready to jump on it with both hands. 

Octavia handed in her two-week notice at Kingsley-Griffin-Jaha on Tuesday, barely twelve hours after the Wallace case. Clarke had been able to get away with quitting more immediately by employing Roan’s help to fill in forms that decreed her office as _“an uncomfortable work environment”_ and that she needed to leave _to ensure that Miss Griffin’s mental health isn’t further impinged”_. It wasn’t entirely untrue either, but more importantly, it was enough for Nia to let her go without asking. 

However, Octavia had to keep working there for the time being, and she frequently stopped by the offices after work to complain about it. It was lucky they were in midtown, because they were almost exactly halfway between Nia’s kingdom and the Blake neck of the woods, which meant it was barely a detour on her way home.

Bellamy himself was still putting hours in at Sinclair’s while they built the business up, and the man himself apparently frequently lamented Raven’s large absences and sent well wishes to Clarke. He and Raven had also very unsubtly prodded Bellamy for relationship details, but he was, thankfully, keeping silent. Both Raven and Bellamy refused to quit, but they were planning to dramatically cut down their hours, so Sinclair ended up hiring a guy Raven recommended – Kyle Wick - with the semi-joking stipulation that if Wick wasn't good, he'd kidnap Raven and never let her leave. Raven had countered that she'd love that, because Sinclair's baking was amazing, and he had wrapped her in a bear hug. 

After getting jumped by Cage’s men, Vinnie left town, and no-one knew how far he’d gone, only that Diyoza still had his number in case of emergencies. They were all too afraid to ask what kind of emergencies those were.

Monty and Jasper both quit their jobs to join the firm, with Jasper serving as tech support, a general dogsbody, and the life and soul of the office, while Monty started helping Clarke with case files. He also started a vegetable garden in the empty lot behind them, because, in his words, _“Green is good”._

Roan still worked at Kingsley-Griffin-Jaha – something to do with the contract drawn up by his mother – but he was trying to find his way out of it. In the meantime, he promised at the very least to text more, even if he wasn’t around much, and he and Bellamy even managed to broker a tentative friendship. 

Madi was still living with Diyoza, but now that Clarke had hold of her case, she knew she could win it. She was worried about the girl going into foster care, but they would jump that hurdle when they got there. She was a brave kid, and a smart one at that; they could have a frank discussion about her future at some point. For the moment, however, they were just enjoying the days, as Madi was lounging around the offices and occasionally chipping in. With the encroaching threat of the last day of summer holidays, however, the nine-year old was getting increasingly antsy. Clarke couldn’t decide if it was because she was excited to return or sad to be spending less time with Diyoza and Clarke – probably a combination of both. 

Abby called on Friday and asked if Clarke would get lunch with her on Saturday, to reinstate the long-forgotten tradition. She agreed, and Abby extended the invitation to include Bellamy, so of course Clarke countered with an invitation of her own. Once Abby _promised_ she would bring Marcus Kane to dinner, Clarke felt a lot more at ease about the whole thing. She knew, or at least _hoped_ , that her mother meant well, but she’d also seen the way she’d looked at Bellamy the previous week in her flat. If Bellamy was getting grilled, so was Marcus.

* * *

* * *

On Saturday morning, Clarke burrowed a little deeper into the covers, and Bellamy’s chest. 

He chuckled at her, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. 

“C’mon Princess, it’s not the end of the world,” he tried to reassure her. 

“You haven’t had lunch with my mother,” she reminded him with a groan, tucking her head even further against his sternum. 

“And you,” he lifted her chin up with two fingers so she would look at him, “haven’t had lunch with your mother _with me._ It’s not going to be like it used to be, Clarke. For one thing, you’re in charge now; you’re running your own business, you put away Cage Wallace, you’re dedicating your life to helping the underdog… For another, every time your mother frustrates you, instead of taking it out on yourself, you can just squeeze my hand and I’ll step in for you.”

She sighed. This would be a perfect time to say it. To let the words trip from her tongue the way he did, like it was easy, like the world didn’t shift on its axis if you admitted you loved someone. 

Instead, she leaned up and melded their lips together, and he rolled over until he was on top of her, tongue running along her bottom lip teasingly. 

_“Or,”_ she suggested seductively, “we could stay in bed all day.”

He laughed into her lips, “you’re not getting out of it that easy.”

He dragged himself to his feet and pulled her up with him, lifting her up and throwing her over his shoulder. She laughed, landing fake blows to his back as he strode down the across the hall to the bathroom. He placed her down gently and she grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and yanked him closer, kissing him for so long that she almost forgot where they were. 

Bellamy had evidently _not_ forgotten, and he peeled himself away to turn on the shower. 

“Care to join me?” He offered, his eyes sparkling.

She tossed her pyjama shirt to the tiled floor, “I thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

* * *

For the first time in perhaps _ever,_ Clarke arrived at lunch first. 

She wasn’t run off her feet from a job that demanded she come in at all hours of the weekend, nor was she deliberately dragging her feet, so they arrived a few minutes early and sat down at the usual table. 

The waitress brought over coffee and mimosas and offered them perusal of the menu before disappearing to another table. Bellamy fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat, eyes fixed on the crystal glasses and the white tablecloth practically gleaming in the light.

Clarke bumped her shoulder against his arm, “Sorry, I know this isn’t really your thing. If you feel uncomfortable, we can go–”

He cut her off with a sly smile, ducking his head to kiss her, “I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.”

“I–”

“-nice to see you’ve made yourselves at home,” Abby’s sharp voice cut through their peaceful bubble, and it took all of Clarke’s strength not to visibly wilt. She drew her gaze from Bellamy’s eyes and found Abby and Kane taking their seats. 

Kane, at least, looked sheepish, but Abby was glaring stony-faced at Bellamy. 

“Nice to see you again Mr Kane,” Clarke smiled openly at him. She’d always liked him, because despite his previous forays into the more aggressive fields of politics, he’d never let himself fall to corruption. That was something he and her father shared, and it was definitely worth a few points in his favour. 

“I’ve told you a hundred times to call me Marcus, Clarke,” he scolded, a teasing note to his voice, and she felt her smile curve upwards a little more. 

“Just be thankful I’m no longer calling you Candy Kane,” she sipped her coffee as he spluttered on his own. 

Bellamy leaned forward, “Candy Kane?”

“Clarke and Wells used to come to charity functions with their parents, that’s how we’ve met before,” Marcus explained, “and the first one we were introduced at was a Christmas dinner for a cancer charity, oh fifteen years ago? And of course, I was introduced as Mr Kane, and before I could get a word in edgewise, Miss Griffin here had decided my name was Candy Kane and that I was a Christmas Wizard. Of course, it didn’t help that I was wearing a red and white pinstripe suit for the occasion.”

“Exactly! Can you blame me?” Clarke’s phone dinged, but she ignored it. 

“No I suppose not,” he shook his head in mock disappointment just as the waiter arrived to take their order. 

Once she had floated to another table, the conversation seemed to have halted somewhat, and Clarke was desperately searching for a topic when her mother decided to break her icy silence and jump in. 

“So, Bellamy,” she said, glass poised in her hand as she stared him down, “tell me about yourself.”

Clarke pressed a fingernail into the soft flesh of her palm below her thumb. She didn’t want to lose her cool; they hadn’t even reached the food yet.

Bellamy sat up straighter, “uh, you already know I’m a mechanic–”

Abby’s face dropped into a scowl at that and Clarke couldn’t help but feel a little smug that she remembered the rude way she talked about Bellamy the very day she suggested Clarke date Cage Wallace. It was almost poetic, really. 

“–but I suppose you want more than that. Uh, I was born in Polis, but I’ve travelled a bit, mostly for work, although I did go to Italy for a little while, when my sister was there on exchange. My mom died when I was in my first year of college and Octavia was in her Junior Year, and she didn’t leave anything behind except the apartment that I now live in. I dropped out of college to get a second job and help Octavia through the last two years of high school, and to save for her college fees. I met Raven at one of those odd jobs I picked up, working for a mechanic. He was a horrible guy, treated her like she was stupid just because she was a woman, and none of the rest of us liked it, but he was paying us and we couldn’t do anything about it. Anyway, I remembered that she’d been one or two years in front of Octavia at school, so I invited her round one afternoon, and she and O started hanging out more. One day, Raven just stormed out of the job – she was sick of being picked on – and she told me to come with her. So I did, without a second thought. Turns out she already had something lined up, from the guy who taught her how to be a mechanic, and she’d been planning it for a while.”

“She’s nothing if not resourceful,” Clarke agreed. 

“So I’ve been working at Sinclair’s ever since. Met Murphy one night because Octavia decided to go to an illegal underground street fight, and I went with her to make sure she didn’t get in any trouble.”

Abby pursed her lips as if to say something, and then the food arrived. Clarke immediately dug into the fries in the futile hope that enough of them would distract her from Abby’s disapproval. 

Bellamy continued, “he won his fight, and then the police stormed in. I somehow collected Murphy on my way out, or maybe he just stowed away in my car, I don’t know, but either way, I haven’t been able to get rid of him since.”

Clarke almost choked on her food, “yep, that sounds like Murphy.”

Abby frowned, but Bellamy wasn’t done.

“I raised my sister, Miss Griffin. Even when my mom was alive, she was sick for a long time, and our dads were long since gone. I take care of my friends, I worked hard enough to keep a roof over our heads while Octavia studied, and now she has an apartment of her own and works for the same law firm Clarke did. I worked hard to get where I am, and now I co-own a business with one of the best lawyers in the country,” he smiled across at Clarke and she flushed, embarassed. He looked back at Abby, staring the woman dead in the eyes when he said, “and I love her. _So much.”_

Clarke felt the blush radiating from her cheeks, and she knew it was visible to the whole world now, but he didn’t seem fazed, simply leaning across to press a kiss to her temple and reaching for her hand. He flipped it over, revealing the small pink marks and grumbled low in his throat.

“Clarke,” that worried note was back in his voice. He ran a thumb over them almost reverently, and she could have cried at the care he was taking. It reminded her of that first day he came to her office, after Cage had grabbed her. Of the way he’d held her wrists like he was terrified of breaking them, but he looked at _her_ like she was unbreakable. 

“it’s fine, I’m fine,” she said quickly, and he intertwined their fingers, obscuring her palm from view.

“I know, Princess,” he said nosing into her hair a little, “but you don’t have to be.”

She wanted to tell him she loved him more than anything in the world, but she couldn’t do it here, not while her mother watched them like a hawk, so she bit her tongue. Again. 

“Look, I…” Abby interjected, drawing their attention back to her, “Mr Blake, I know I’ve said some things in the past that were… less than nice, particularly about you and where you grew up. But I can see how much you care about my daughter, and I know you’ll do right by her. If you’ll allow it, I’d like to put my mistakes behind us, and move forward.”

Clarke blinked, shell-shocked. Of all the things she expected from this lunch, an outright apology was not one of them. Bellamy looked to her for guidance, but she only shrugged helplessly.

“If you can promise never to put your daughter in the firing line like that again, then you and I don’t have a problem,” he said, reaching out a hand. Once she’d taken it, he shook it, maintaining eye contact, “but my opinion doesn’t mean Clarke’s forgiveness, ma’am.”

Abby nodded, a small smile in her cheeks as she returned to her food, “I would expect nothing less from my daughter.”

The rest of lunch passed more easily, with jokes swapped between Marcus and Bellamy, and glances shared and food finished, and by the time it was over, it was a weight off Clarke’s mind. 

When they stood to leave, Marcus pulled Bellamy aside to discuss something, which Clarke couldn't help but feel was a deliberate move to separate the two of them. Her suspicions were confirmed when Abby ended up by her side as they left the restaurant and leaned against the railing. She noticed Abby was frowning down at Clarke’s collarbone: at the injury now clearly visible there, since she removed the dressing that morning. It was healing, but it was still an angry red line, and Abby’s motherly worry clearly kicked in at the sight of it. 

“I’m really okay, Mom,” Clarke said reassuringly, “I promise.”

“I know, baby,” she muttered, “you and Bellamy are going to take care of each other. It’s just… that was my job, and I failed, and it got you hurt, and… I… I’m so, so sorry sweetheart.”

“Don’t waste time feeling guilty,” Clarke said, “that’s never helped us in the past. Let’s just give it some time, okay? I don’t blame you for Cage’s actions, and I know you were backed into a corner, but I still resent you for putting me in that position in the first place. It’s okay. It’s just gonna take a little while. We’re both trying this time.”

“Yeah sweetheart, I swear,” Abby wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I meant what I said last week – your father would be so proud of you. For everything you’ve done, and everything you are doing. You never failed to blow us both away, Clarke.”

"I named it after him, you know," Clarke said, "the business, I mean. We called it _The Griffin Agency_. Bellamy even suggested putting a plaque about dad on the front of the building."

Abby's face finally crumpled, "Oh baby, that's... I'm so proud of you."

Clarke felt her own tears threatening, and she reached over and pulled her mother into a hug. 

It was the first hug they’d shared in months – since the whole deal with the Wallaces began – and she didn’t realise until that moment just how much she’d been missing her mother. How much she longed for a mother’s touch; for the gentle hands that raised her to hold her and tell her that everything would be okay. She let herself cry into Abby’s shoulder for a few minutes before she stepped back, sniffling. 

“Love you Mom,” she said, and she truly meant it. 

“I love you too sweetheart.”

Marcus and Bellamy, returned from their short walk, as Marcus put it, "for my health", and smiled between the two of them. Marcus clasped his hands together, “I’m glad to see you two working on mending fences. I hope to have many more of these lunches in the future, although perhaps at my house – I cook, you know?”

Clarke beamed over at him, “that sounds great, Marcus.”

“Don’t be a stranger, Bellamy,” Abby said, her voice a little shaky, “you made sure my daughter was safe when I wouldn't, and I’m always going to owe you for that.”

Bellamy wrung his hands, unsure how to respond. 

“He cooks too,” Clarke said, when it became clear that Bellamy couldn’t work out what to say, “so if you like, we could host lunch sometimes.”

“I think we’d like that,” Marcus said, slipping an arm around Abby’s waist. 

“Yeah,” Bellamy agreed, “that sounds like something we could do.”

Abby and Marcus waved them off, and Clarke took one of a thousand steadying breaths she'd taken over the last few months. This one felt better though somehow; easier. 

As they walked back to the car, Bellamy entwined their fingers again, tugging her towards him for a hug – one of those patented, all-encompassing, Bellamy Blake hugs that blots out the world. She wanted him closer, as close as possible, and she pressed a kiss to his neck, right where it met his shoulder. She could feel his pulse thrumming under her lips, and she smiled, tilting her head up to look at him. The familiar crease in the corners of Bellamy’s eyes was back as he looked down at her, and she couldn’t help but stretch up on her toes and kiss him properly.

Time passed and the world kept moving, but in this small pocket of a moment, she was happier than she’d ever been, and she was right where she wanted to be.

* * *

* * *

_The rest of the weekend passed in quiet nothings and important somethings._  
  
  
  
The notes she wrote for him and left stuck to the fridge.  
  
  
The hour he spent braiding and re-braiding her hair in front of the television.  
  
  
The leftovers they heated up and ate while Bellamy waxed poetic on Greek mythology and Clarke listened, so enraptured at times that she forgot to eat.  
  
  
The way Bellamy already had his arm out for Clarke to snuggle into when she crawled into bed.  
  
  
The way his whole body tensed in anticipation when she ducked under the covers and tugged down his briefs.  
  
  
The way he came apart in her mouth muttering curse words and praises in equal measure, and then kissed her senseless, promising to return the favour.  
  
  
The fact that she refused and asked if they could just curl up in bed together, and he seemed genuinely disappointed to not be able to go down on her.  
  
  
Waking up to the light curling in through the open curtains on Sunday morning, only to find Bellamy was already up and she could smell breakfast.  
  
  
The way Bellamy’s frown of concentration at his crossword fell into a smile when Clarke appeared in the living room, yawning and stretching.  
  
  
The lunch they had with Murphy and Emori.  
  
  
The afternoon they spent with Madi in her café, running over her case and playing card games.  
  
  
The drive they took over to her apartment, singing along to the radio.  
  
  
The hours they spent sitting at her father’s bar in the kitchen, Bellamy listening and occasionally comforting her while she told him stories about Jake.  
  
  


It wasn’t until the early hours of the morning that one of them finally checked the time, and Bellamy quickly bundled Clarke into the shower. He refused to let her clean up the kitchen, despite her repeated protestations that it was _her apartment._ He only smile and kissed her forehead and she poked him in the ribs out of spite before she went. 

She let the spray wash over her, and tried to enjoy the slow moment of relaxation. It didn't work, however; she no longer felt like this moment was supposed to be static, but that it was propelling her forward, pushing her towards something big – something axis-altering.

Clarke stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped tightly around herself, and leaned against the doorframe, looking into her bedroom. 

Bellamy was making her bed. 

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” she said, and he jumped, turning. When he saw her, taking in the stray droplets of water still clinging to her skin, his eyes flashed for a moment before he straightened his face and returned to the sheets. 

“I know,” he said, folding the bedcovers back a little, “but you’ve got enough on your mind. Especially today.”

“No, I’m fine. Madi wants me to see her off at school, so that’ll be nice, and then I’ve got my first day of court since, uh… My first day in court as a lawyer in charge of my own firm. A partner. I’m fine,” she said, trying and failing to sound casual.

“Okay. But I’m coming with you.” He still wasn’t facing her, and he moved to her dresser, rummaging through her drawers to find pyjamas. It was such a sweet sentiment that she felt a lump forming in her throat.

“Bellamy–”

He turned around, oversized shirt in hand and a stern look on his face, “No, Mondays are my day off Sinclair’s, and I would just spend it worrying about you anyway, so I’m coming with you. This isn’t up for discussion, Princess. Besides, you’re exhausted, you need someone to annoy you into–”

She surged forward, capturing his lips with her own, and he wasn’t expecting it, so he fell back against the bed and she went with him. She was certain he could taste her tears but he didn’t seem to mind, he just kissed her back, and she wanted nothing more than to keep kissing him until time ran out. He seemed to realise what he was doing, however, and he rolled them onto their sides and broke the kiss, stroking her hair from her face. 

“What was that for?” He asked, but he didn’t sound that bothered by it. He looked like he was trying not to smile.

She blushed, “I figured it was the only way to get you to shut up.”

“Really?” Bellamy raised an eyebrow, “devious of you. How did you know I wouldn’t just keeping talking?”

Clarke pretended to be offended, “I can’t believe you think about anything other than me when I’m kissing you.”

He laughed and leaned in again, resting his forehead against hers, “Maybe you need to work on your distraction tactics.”

She smiled, brushing her lips to his, and when she shifted back a little, his lips chased hers. Before he had a chance to reach her, she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled. He was surprised enough that he didn’t resist, and he followed the movement until he was lying on top of her, propped up with his elbows either side of her head. She regretted it almost immediately because while she’d succeeded at distracting him, she now had a rather pressing distraction of her own. She bent her knees until he was resting in the cradle of her hips and he groaned, pressing his face into the uninjured side of her collarbone. 

“Clarke, it’s four in the morning,” he said, muffled. 

_“So?”_

“So, you win, you’re very distracting, but you need to go to sleep.” He started pressing kisses along her clavicle, until he reached the small hollow at the base of her neck and she gasped quietly. 

“Who’s being distracting now?” 

“Sorry,” he said, sounding completely unrepentant, but he slowed down anyway. He tried to get up and she slid her arms around to his shoulders and pushed him back down until they were eye to eye, foreheads almost touching. This time, his tone was serious, “Clarke-”

_“I love you.”_

She said it in a whoosh of breath against his lips, like the words couldn’t get out of her mouth fast enough. She said it with all the oxygen in her lungs, and he looked like his own had been snatched away. 

He stared down at her, eyes wide, pupils blown and full of wonder, and his mouth slowly but surely stretched into a smile. 

“Yeah?” He whispered, eyebrows drawing together almost disbelievingly, that smile shining so bright it was almost blinding. When he smiled at her like that, she could almost imagine the rest of the world didn’t exist. 

She lifted a hand to his hair, brushing it out of his forehead and stroking it softly.

“Yeah. I’ve loved you for too long to only be saying it now. I think I was just scared. Cage made me feel like I was on fire and nothing could put it out, like I was going to suffocate and no-one would notice. But you noticed. Every time I pretended to be okay and wasn’t, you saw it and you made it better. You were the last person I thought would be good in a crisis, and then you were just _there._ It’s got nothing to do with Cage – he broke me down, but Murphy and Emori could have helped me put myself back together. It’s that you were suddenly in my life and I realised we could have been friends the whole time we knew each other.”

Bellamy looked sad at that.

She smiled, a small thing but full of so much adoration. “Falling in love with you was so easy. You came along with your bad jokes and your impassioned speeches about history, and your stupid gorgeous face, and everything just… started cooling down. But I was scared, because I was messed up, and you deserve better than to love someone who can’t love you back the way you deserve. So I told myself that I didn’t need your love – I just needed you in my life, no matter whether you loved me or not. I just wanted to wake up knowing I could talk to you. I told myself that it was enough. Then you stopped talking to me, stopped coming to visit, and I told myself it was still fine. My bar got lower and lower because I was trying so hard not to think about the fact that I loved you. Just knowing you cared was enough, I didn’t want anything else.” 

She took a deep breath. “Then you beat up Cage and went missing, and nothing else mattered because all I wanted was for you to be alive. _Alive was enough.”_

“Princess,” Bellamy breathed, and a tear fell from his lashes, plopping onto her nose. She reached up and thumbed at his cheeks, swiping the tears before they could fall. He looked pained, “you’re more than enough. You’re incredible, Clarke. Me staying away had nothing to do with you, you know that. I was trying to become better, to make sure I was the person you needed me to be.”

“I don’t need you to be anything else Bellamy, I just need you to be _here,_ ” she said, “I need you to be in my life. If this doesn’t work, if we ruin it, I can’t lose you. You’re too important.”

“We’re not going to ruin it,” he muttered, and he sounded so certain that she almost flinched.

“You can’t say that.”

“You’re _it_ for me Clarke,” he brushed a kiss to the corner of her mouth, “no matter what else happens, you’re always going to be the person I care about most. I never cared if you loved me back. That’s not what matters; you’re my best friend and you always will be. We can fight and scream and never have sex again and I don’t care. You were my friend first, and you will _always_ be my friend first.”

 _“Fuck,”_ she sighed tugging him down so she could meld their lips together, “that’s so unfair.”

He made a noise of amusement, “how so?”

“I’m the lawyer…” she managed to say as he started kissing down her neck, her collarbone, her sternum. He unwrapped her towel with a level of reverence she wasn’t expecting, and he sat back a little to look at her. It made her heart thump against her ribs as his eyes took her in; the adoration in his gaze was almost too much to handle, and she felt her eyes start to fill with tears. His flicked up to her face for a moment, full of nothing but understanding, and he leaned back in, brushing his lips across the soft skin of her chest, the curve of her breasts. He left his face resting between her breasts for a moment, and she knew he was listening to her heart. She scratched his skull gently and he hummed into her chest, making her feel so relaxed and safe and _loved_ , “…you’re not supposed to be better at speeches.”

“You’re better at arguing,” he conceded, beginning his downward trajectory again. He pressed soft kisses down her stomach and over her hip, nipping gently at the inside of her thigh. She gasped and felt him smile as he moved closer to where she wanted him. “But speeches are my wheelhouse, Princess.”

“Why’s that?” She asked the ceiling, far too worked up to think about anything but his hot breath against her, sending small thrills up her spine.

“I’m very persuasive,” he murmured, and then he put his mouth on her.

She wanted to smack him for being such a smug smart-ass, but _fuck_ if he didn’t know _exactly_ what he was doing. Her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him closer, right where she needed him to be, and he wrapped his large hands around her thighs, shifting them up and over his shoulders. Once he was sure they were going to stay there, he moved his left arm to band over her hips. He slipped the other further down, fingers replacing his tongue so he could move his lips up to her clit.

“Bellamy, ” her breath hitched when he curled his fingers up, “–fuck, _right there.”_

She thought he would smile in that annoyingly self-satisfied way she had grown to love so much, but he was serious in his task; relentless in his pursuit to get her what she so desperately needed. He just followed her instructions and leaned into it, mouthing at her more determinedly, and she involuntarily dug her heels into his sides. He barely noticed. 

She lifted her left hand from his hair and moved it to where his was pressing into her hip and she tangled their fingers together, holding on. She didn’t know how he had enough of his senses left to stroke her knuckles with his thumb so calmly while his other hand was inside her, because she was almost incoherent and she wasn’t even the one doing anything. His tongue flicked against her at the same time as he twisted his fingers and hit a particular spot that made a violent gasp tear through her. She could feel him tense, unsure if she was enjoying it or panicking, and when his eyes flicked up to her face she managed to pant, “If you stop now, Bellamy Blake, I swear-”

He relaxed instantly, squeezing her hand as he continued, not letting up for even a second. She was so close and climbing higher.

He crooked his fingers again and she lost herself completely, back arching off the bed as she clung to him, seemingly endless waves of pleasure crashing down and swallowing her up. 

It took her a minute to regain her bearings; she felt like she was afloat in the middle of the ocean, the water wrapped around her and the dim warmth on her cheeks no longer something to be afraid of. The sun was too far away to burn her up. 

When she eventually drifted back to earth, she realised Bellamy was pressing kisses to her hips and stomach, slowly moving his way back up her body. He unhooked her legs from his shoulders and stroked at her thighs almost absentmindedly as he bit down gently on the soft skin over her ribs. He paused at her chest, nipping and licking at the soft flesh of her breasts for a while before she got impatient and dragged him all the way up. She kissed him, hot and dirty, and he trailed his fingers up her sides, settling himself back into the cradle of her hips.

After a minute, he pulled back, staring down at her with the softest expression she’d ever seen. 

“Good?” He asked, almost shyly. She nodded and his answering smile was almost better than the orgasm. She pushed at his chest, rolling them over so she was straddling him, propping herself up on her elbow as she let herself fall into those gorgeous eyes.

“I love you so much,” she murmured, and the words would never be enough, but he was looking at her like he knew, and she kissed him again just because she could. 

They lay there for a while, just breathing each other in, until she shifted her weight and realised just how turned on he was, and the fact that he must have been ignoring it for a while. She pulled his boxers down and he made that same strangled noise he’d made when she put her full weight in his lap the first time they kissed – on her couch, in the middle of the night, when neither of them was willing to admit what they meant to each other. 

_This was so much better._

“We need to go to sleep,” he groaned, when she ducked her head to kiss his neck. “I mean it, Princess.”

She bit his shoulder, “you meant it last time too.”

He mumbled another half-hearted objection, but she ran her hand down his abs and wrapped her hand around him in an effort to distract him again. He threw his head back into the pillow as he cut himself off with a moan.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he growled.

“Better me than anyone else,” she retorted, shifting her hips closer and watching his eyebrows draw together as he tensed.

“Can’t argue with that Princess,” he said, strained, and when she sank down on him, every word that fell from his lips was a stream of praise and repeated murmurings of _I love you_ and, _fuck,_ and _Jesus, Clarke._

“You swear a lot when you’re turned on,” she remarked.

“That must be why I’m constantly cursing you out in my head,” he retorted, and she laughed, drawing another moan from his chest. “Your fucking laugh, Princess, _fuck–”_

She laughed again, picking up the pace, and his fingers curled around her hips to hold her steady, thumbs pressed gently into her skin. Hers were on his chest, running over his abs greedily, until she decided she had spent far too long not kissing him, and bent down to brush their lips together. The new angle hit something in her that made her gasp and he grinned into the kiss, helping her move her hips as she started losing focus, lost in the sparks of pleasure shooting up her spine.

It cascaded over her, simultaneously warming her all over and sending a cool tingling down to her fingertips. He followed soon after, his hands releasing her so they could slide up her back and into her hair, stroking at her a little helplessly as he came down. Her face was buried in his neck and he started raining kisses down on her hair.

"You're fucking perfect," he breathed, voice already lanquid and drowsy, and she wasn't even sure he knew what he was saying, but when she opened her eyes to see his staring right back, she knew he meant it.

* * *

* * *

Clarke walked into court with her head held high and her new client at her side. Diyoza was sitting to the side in the gallery already, observing, and Clarke knew she couldn’t stay long but it was nice of the other woman to stay for support on her first day. Maybe she was right and pregnancy was making her soft.

She pointed the client to his seat and then turned to Bellamy to shoo him away, but he caught her around the waist and beamed proudly at her, and she forgot why she wanted him to leave. He was infuriating like that.

“Good luck, _Wanheda,”_ Bellamy teased, waggling his eyebrows at her. 

“Shut up,” she grumbled, brushing her lips far too briefly against his before she extricated herself from his arms and moved towards the front of the room. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” he grinned. _“Princess.”_

 _“Ass.”_ She fired back, winking over her shoulder as she took her seat. She leaned over to reassure her client as the defence team marched in, and when the courtroom was settled, she stared up at the empty judge’s seat. 

This was where she was in control, this was where she thrived. 

“All rise, the honourable Judge Cartwig presiding,” the bailiff called.

Clarke stood, sharing a look with Diyoza, and feeling Bellamy’s reassuring presence at her back. 

Yeah, this was where she was meant to be. The fires felt far away and her pocket universe had been restored to equilibrium. She was free from the shackles of the Wallaces, she was building a business from scratch, and she was helping people who didn't have the means to help themselves. 

And, despite having gotten almost no sleep, she didn’t feel even a little bit tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT'S IT!
> 
> THAT'S THE END!
> 
> Until the sequel, at least! It's going to be a Zaven fic as well as a Bellarke fic, and it picks up 5 years into the future, when Zeke Shaw gets hired as an intern at The Griffin Agency. So lots of cute-angst and less angsty-angst. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the story, and I'm so thankful to each and every one of you, for reading it, for commenting, for sharing it, and for nominating me for the BFWA!!! I'm still so completely blown away by that. I love you all to pieces. 
> 
> <3 <3 <3


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